HlBRARY OF CONGRESS. 5 

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TRUE FRIEND. 



REFLECTIONS 



ON 



LIFE, CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 



A COLLECTION. 




.": 



CLEVELAND, 0.: 

A. J. CAMPBELL, PUBLISHER, 

1872. 



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&C/" 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 

A. J. CAMPBELL, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



■BAKER, JONES & CO. 

JStereotypers and Printers, 

-BUFFALO, N.T. 



CONTENTS. 



Introductory, 5 

Man and Woman, 21 

Childhood, 65 

Boyhood, 90 

Youth, 102 

To Young Men 104 

True Manliness, 114 

Self-Study— Know Thyself 116 

The Heart, . .120 

Praise, 129 

Flattery, 131 

Falsehood, 133 

Deception, 134 

Detraction, 135 

Slander, 137 

Fretting and Grumbling, 133 

Peevishness, . 140 

Churlishness, 141 

Controversies, 142 

Quarrels, 143 

Insults, 144 

Indignation, ............... 145 

Anger, 145 

Resentment, 148 

Suspicion, 148 

Jealousy, 148 

Envy 151 

Harshness, 152 

Hatred, 153 

Reprehension and Reproof, 154 

Injury, 155 

Evil, 156 

Bad Temper, 157 

Meddling, 159 

Gossip, 159 

Censure 160 

Fault Finding, 161 

Fear, 165 

Prejudice, 165 

Error • 166 

Washington in the Wrong, 16T 

Egotism 168 

Yanitv, 169 

Pride, 170 

Poverty's Answer to Pride 175 

Poverty, 176 

Pleasure, 179 

Amusements 183 

Theatres, 1S4 

Yice, 185 

The Alchemy of Yice, 187 

Guilt, . 188 

Luxury, 169 

Crime 190 

Wickedness, 191 

Revenge, 191 

Murder, 193 

Duelling, 193 

Passion, 197 

The Passions. 197 

Gambling. 200 

Fortune Telling, 201 

Dandies and Fops 202 

Beauty, 204 

Love, 208 

Courtship, 212 

Flirting 218 

Advantages of Wedlock, ....•" 221 

Selecting a Wife T 225 



IV CONTENTS. 

A Hint to Young Ladies, 228 

Marriage, 229 

After Marriage, 238 

The Marriage Relation, 242 

Influence of Marriage, 247 

Young Women and Marriage, 259 

Young Men and Marriage, 263 

Marriage of First cousins, 267 

At What Age to Marry, 2t.« 

Love, Marriage and Divorce, 272 

Whom do Great Men Marry? 278 

A Hint to Stern Parents, 279 

Affection, 281 

How to Avoid a Bad Husband, 286 

Bachelors, 289 

Fashion, 293 

Dress, 300 

Dress at Church, 310 

Wearing Mourning 311 

About Jewelry, 313 

Extravagance, 315 

Prodigality, 3^0 

Idleness, 321 

Indolence, 328 

Leisure, • 330 

Ignorance, .... 332 

Timidity and Irresolution, 337 

Discontent, . . . . . . . .339 

Difficulties and Discouragements, . 343 

Disappointment, 353 

Change, 355 

Social Changes, 358 

Misfortune, 359 

Adversity, 368 

Days of Darkness, 373 

Affliction, 375 

Suffering, 378 

Sorrow 380 

Sorrow for the Dead, 384 

Tears, 387 

Grief, *88 

Melancholy, 389 

Despair, - 390 

Temptation, 394 

Debt, 398 

Failure, 413 

Reverses in New York, 418 

A Sermon to Young Men, 419 

Society, 422 

Associations, 430 

Neighbors, 436 

Friends, 438 

Friendship, 452 

Human Nature, 461 

The Power of Sulkiness ; 474 

Hints on Talking, 478 

Conversation, 487 

Hearers, 504 

Thought, 506 

Memory, 517 

The Mind, 520 

Genius, Talent and Tact, 528 

The Tongue, 534 

Speech, 536 

Words, 538 

Simplicity, 540 

Sarcasm, 542 

Jests, 543 

Loquacity, 546 

Brevity, 547 

Silence 550 

Solitude, 556 

A Few Hints to Writers, 559 

Writing for Newspapers, 567 

The Art of Letter Writing 570 

Doing Good, 573 



INTRODUCTORY. 



To anticipate is pleasant ; but in order to enjoy, we 
must begin now ; must find as we pass along, all the 
flowery places, the happy thoughts, the sunny scenes we 
may, for these constitute the poetry of common life, 
these fill the rill of happiness that murmers along the 
monotonous plain of every-day existence. To enjoy all 
these ; and to anticipate, if we may, still higher and 
purer joys, is the creed and the practice of the happiest. 

There are a thousand things in this wide world to af- 
flict and sadden, but, oh ! how many that are beautiful 
and good! The world teems with beauty — with objects 
that gladden the eye and warm the heart. We might be 
happy if we would. There are ills that we cannot es- 
cape — the approach of disease and death ; misfortune ; 
the sundering of early ties, and the canker worm of 
grief ; but a vast majority of evils that beset us might 
be avoided. The curse of intemperance, interwoven as 
it is with all the ligaments of society, is one which never 
strikes us but to destroy. There is not one bright page 
upon the record of its progress ; nothing to shield it 
from the heartiest execration of the human race. Do 
away with all this ; let wars come to an end ; and let 
friendship, love, truth, charity and kindness, mark the 
intercourse between man and man. We are too selfish, 
as if the world was made for us alone. How much hap- 
pier would we be were we to labor more earnestly to 
promote each other's good ! God has blessed us with a 
home that is not all dark. There is sunshine everywhere 
— in the sky, upon the earth — there would be in most 
hearts if we would look around us. The storms die away, 



6 INTRODUCTORY. 

and a bright sun shines out. God reigns in heaven. 
Murmur not at a Being so bountiful, and we can live 
happier than we do. The discipline of our life is por- 
tioned out by no unloving hand. It is just what we need, 
although we may not always realize it. It is designed to. 
make us strong, and wise, and humble. Bitter, indeed, 
are some of the draughts we drink, but most tonics are 
bitter, and they do us good, if we do not relish them. 
The hidden trials are often the most difficult to bear. 
How the soul starts back with a fearful shudder from even 
the memory of them. In heaven this agony of remem- 
brance will be over. No sorrow, no sad remembrance of 
sorrow, can enter there. Great calamities teach us many 
beautiful lessons, and reveal to us much we should never 
have seen from the common level of life. A flood, a 
famine, a conflagration, or some great desolation, shows 
us how much real goodness there is under the surface of 
every-day life ; how many generous feelings and kindly 
sympathies, and points of union and practical fellowship, 
lie below the differences of political opinion and religious 
faith, and the prejudices and antagonisms of party and 
sect show us that beneath all these the noblest elements 
of our human nature still live, and wait only the impulse 
of occasion to spring into life and action, and to discov- 
er to us how much more there is in man to honor and 
love, than the ordinary aspects of life led us to suppose. 
The world, after all, is better, in many things, than we 
take it to be. The Italians have a proverb, "He that 
does not amuse himself will soon die." Liberally inter- 
preted, contrast and change of thought and scene are 
necessary. To extract rational enjoyment and novelty 
from life, is the happiest of all arts ; to impart them to others, 
the best of all endowments. The tangible passes from 
hand to hand, the intangible from mind to mind, and from 
heart to heart. The eye speculates and beholds, the soul 
appreciates and adores ; and continually there are two 
lessons, the ardent rush of things and their quiescent re- 
pose, the diurnal sun, the nocturnal stars, that our days 
may be illuminated by cheerfulness, and our evenings 
hallowed with the light of peace. 



INTRODUCTORY. 7 

There was a beautiful idea expressed by a Christian 
lady on her deathbed, in reply to a remark of her brother 
who was taking leave of her to return to his distant res- 
idence, that he should probaly never meet her in the 
.and of the living. "Brother, I trust we shall meet in 
the land of the living. We are now in the land of the 
dying." 

Life is not entirely made up of great evils or heavy 
trials, but the perpetual recurrance of petty evils is the 
ordinary and appointed exercise of the Christian graces. 
To bear with the feelings of those about us — with their 
infirmities, their bad judgment, their ill-breeding, their 
perverse tempers — to endure neglect when we feel we 
deserved attention, and ingratitude where we expected 
thanks — -to bear with the company of disagreeable peo- 
ple whom Providence has placed in our way, and whom 
He has provided or purposed for the trial of our virtue — 
these are the best exercises of patience and self-denial, 
and the better because not chosen by ourselves. To 
bear with vexation in business, with disappointment in 
our expectations, with interruptions in our retirement, 
with folly, intrusion, disturbances — in short, with what- 
ever opposes our will, or contradicts our humor — this 
habitual acquiescence appears to be more of the essence 
of self-denial than any little rigors or afflictions of our 
own imposing. These constant, inevitable, but inferior 
evils, properly improved, furnish a good moral discipline, 
and might, in the days of ignorance, have superceded 
pilgrimage and penance. Life bears us on like the stream 
of a mighty river. Our boat at first glides down the 
narrow channel, through the playful murmerings of the 
little brook and the windings of its grassy borders. The 
trees shed their blossoms over our young heads; the 
flowers seem to offer themselves to our young hands ; we 
are happy in hope, and grasp eagerly at the beauties 
around us, but the stream hurries on, and still our hands 
are empty. Our course in youth and manhood is along 
a deeper and wider flood, among objects more striking 
and magnificent. We are animated at the moving pic- 
tures and enjoyment and industry all around us ; we are 



8 INTRODUCTORY. 

excited at some short-lived disappointment. The stream 
bears us on, and our joys and griefs are alike behind us. 
We may be shipwrecked, but we cannot be delayed. 
Whether rough or smooth, the river hastens on until the 
roar of the ocean is in our ears and the tossing of the 
waves is beneath our feet, and the floods are lifted up 
around us, and we take leave of earth and its inhabitants, 
until of our future voyage there is no witness save the 
Infinite and Eternal. 

We come into the world to spend the careless, fleeting 
moments of childhood ; to drink in the elements of being ; 
to learn the rudiments of life. As the mother dresses 
her laughing child in a loose, homely garment, fitted to 
its thoughtless sports and playful business, so God has 
clothed us all in frail, perishable bodies, fitted for the 
childish business of mortal life. We are not always to 
be pressed down in the chafing bands of childhood — we 
cannot always wear the homely garments of mortality. 
Earth has many bright attractions, it has a thousand pre- 
cious blessings, and yields us all, perhaps, that our pres- 
ent capacities can appreciate. But earth is not our home. 
It has not given us a sphere in which we could find con- 
summate satisfaction, a sphere in which perfect happiness; 
and holiness and wisdom could be found, nor a sphere 
in which we would choose to "live always." We are 
only sent to bud and blossom here, and then be trans- 
planted in some friendlier climate, some purer region, 
some holier atmosphere. We cannot go away until this , 
body, this infant body is put off. It cannot be taken with 
us — we shall not want it, we shall not need it in our final 
home. The butterfly would be pained to wear its parent 
covering. The eagle could not follow the sun in its 
course, if its narrow shell were not exchanged for wings. 
Immortal spirits would be pained and circumscribed in 
their beatific sphere, if hampered down by the swathing 
of immortality. 

The present life is sleeping and waking ; it is " good 
night," on going to bed, and u good morning" on getting 
up ; it is to wonder what the day will bring ; it is sun- 
shine and gloominess ; it is rain on the window, as one 



INTRODUCTORY. 9 

sits by the fire ; it is to walk in the garden and see the 
flowers open, and hear the birds sing ; it is to have the 
post-man bring letters ; it is to have news from east, west, 
north and sonth ; it is to read old books and new books ; 
it is to see pictures and hear music ; it is to pray with a 
family morning and evening ; it is to sit in the twilight 
and meditate ; it is to be well, and sometimes to be ill ; 
it is to have business to do, and to do it ; it is to have 
breakfast and dinner and tea ; it is to belong to a town 
and have neighbors, and to be one of a circle of acquain- 
tances ; it is to have friends to love one ; it is to have a 
sight of dear old faces ; and with some men, to be kissed 
daily by some loving lips for fifty years ; and it is to know 
themselves thought of many times a day, in many places, 
by children and grand-children, and many friends. 

The laugh of mirth which vibrates through the heart ; 
the tears which freshen the dry wastes within ; the music 
which brings childhood back ; the prayer that calls the 
future near ; the doubt which makes us meditate ; the 
death which startles us with mystery ; the hardships that 
force us to struggle ; the anxiety that ends in trust — 
these are the true nourishments of our natural being. 

Life is no speculative adventure with those who feel 
its value and duties. It has a deeper purpose, and its 
path becomes distinct and easy in proportion as it is ear- 
nestly and faithfully pursued. The rudest or the most 
refined pursuit, if adapted to the wants and capacities of 
the pursuer, has a truth, a beauty, and a satisfaction. All 
ships on the ocean are not steamers or packets, but all 
freight bearers, fitted to their tasks ; and the smallest 
shallop nobly fulfils its mission, while it pushes on towards 
its destined port, nor shifts its course because ships career 
to other points of the compass. Let man ride himself 
on the ocean of Time. Let him learn by nature whether 
he is a shallop or a ship, a coaster or an ocean steamer ; 
and then, freighting himself according to his capacity 
and the market he should seek, fling his sail to the breeze, 
riding with wind and tide, if they go his course, but 
beating resolutely against them if they cross his path. 
Have a well chosen and defined purpose, and pursue it 



10 INTRODUCTORY. 

faithfully, trusting in God, and all will be done well. 
Life, without some necessity for exertion, must ever lack 
real interest. That state is capable of the greatest en- 
joyment where necessity urges, but not painfully ; where 
effort is required, but as much as possible without anxiety ; 
where the spring and summer of life are preparatory to 
the harvest of autumn and the repose of winter. Then 
is every season sweet, and in a well spent life, the last 
the best — the season of calm enjoyment the richest in 
recollections, the brightest in hope. Good training and 
a fair start constitute a more desirable patrimony than 
wealth ; and those parents who study their children's 
welfare rather than the gratification of their own avarice 
or vanity, would do well to think of this. Is it better 
to run a successful race, or to begin and end at the goal ? 
Life has an ultimate purpose. We are not appointed to 
pass through this life, barely that we may live. We are 
not impelled, both by disposition and, necessity, to buy 
and sell, barely that we may get it. There is an end in 
business beyond supply. There is an object in the ac- 
quisition of wealth beyond success. There is a final 
cause of human traffic ; and that is Virtue ! 

We have been watching with intense interest, a man's 
journey up the roof of yonder building. It may be some 
sixty feet to the top, and his only foothold and depend- 
ence is a frail ladder, that shakes with his every step. It 
is a fearful thing to hang thus suspended — one round 
loosened, his hold is lost, and death is certain. We are 
all going up the steep ladder of life, and we are not so 
sure as he that the round before us is not loose. Let us 
take heed — like him, be slow and sure ; like him feel 
that we hang midway between earth and the grave ; like 
him hold closely on to the sides, God's providences, and 
as he at last mounts to the top, there to rest from his la- 
bors, so shall we attain to Heaven, not like him for a 
transient hour, but a whole and delightful eternity. 

We have often been impressed by the deep significance 
of the phrase which Dickens has given as a title to one 
of his Christmas stories, " The Battle of Life." It is full 
of solemn meanings. All our hours, from the cradle to 



INTRODUCTORY. 11 

the grave, are but a series of antagonisms. Hunger, fa- 
tigue, sickness, temptation, sin, remorse, sorrow — these 
are the strong powers with which we must wage contin- 
ual war. Foes beset us from without and from within, 
and make life one long and earnest battle. But there are 
victories to be won on the field, more glorious than those 
which crimsoned Marathon and Waterloo. Evil habits 
may be subdued — fiery passions brought under the con- 
trol of principle — temptations resisted — self-denial cheer- 
fully sustained, and life itself consecrated to high and 
holy purposes. To triumph over the infirmities of a 
perverted nature, and render life, once deformed by pas- 
sion and stained by sin, beautiful with love made mani- 
fest in deeds of benificence, is worthier our ambition than 
all the blood- wrought heroisms that ever linked a name 
to a world's remembrance. Every day witnesseth tri- 
umphs such as these — yet fame proclaims them not. 
What matters it ? In the serene depths of these all con- 
quering spirits, God's peace abides, and harmonies are 
heard, such as the angels make, when they welcome the 
victorious soul from the conflicts of this, to the raptures 
of the heavenly world. If life be a battle, how mad 
must he be who fails to arm himself for the contest ! If 
life be a storm, how infatuated is he who sleeps while his 
bark is driven amid unknown waters I If life be a pil- 
grimage, how unwise is he who strays from the right 
road, nor seeks to return till the twilight shadows gather 
round his pathway. There is an energy of moral suasion 
in a good man's life, passing the highest efforts of the ora- 
tor's genius. The seen but silent beauty of holiness 
speaks more eloquently of God and duty than the tongues 
of men and angels. Let parents remember this. The 
best inheritance a parent can bequeath to a child is a 
virtuous example, a legacy of hallowed remembrances 
and associations. The beauty of holiness beaming through 
the life of a loved relative or friend, is more effectual 
to strengthen such as do stand in virtue's ways, and raise 
up those that are bowed down, than precept, command, 
entreaty or warning. Christianity itself, I believe, owes 
by far the greater part of its moral power, not to the 



12 INTRODUCTORY. 

precepts or parables of Christ, but to His own character. 
The beauty of that holiness which is enshrined in the 
four brief biographies of the man of Nazareth, has done 
more, and will do more, to regenerate the world and 
bring in everlasting righteousness, than all the other 
agencies put together. It has done more to spread His 
religion in the world than all that has ever been preached 
or written on the evidences of Christianity. The beauty 
of a holy life constitutes the most eloquent and effective 
persuasive to religion which one human being can address 
to another. We have many ways of doing good to our 
fellow creatures, but none so efficacious as leading a vir- 
tuous, upright, and well-ordered life. None liveth to 
himself. God has written upon the flower that sweetens 
the air, upon the breeze that rocks it on its stem, upon 
the rainbow that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss that 
rears its head in the desert, upon the ocean that rocks 
every swimmer in its chambers, upon every pencilled 
shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, as well as 
upon the mighty sun that warms and cheers the millions 
of creatures that live in his light — upon all he has writ- 
ten, u None of us liveth to himself." 

Men seldom think of the great event of death until 
the shadows fall across their own path, hiding forever 
from their eyes the traces of loved ones whose living 
smiles were the sunlight of their existence. Death is the 
great antagonist of life, and the cold thought of the tomb 
is the skeleton of all feasts. We do not want to go 
through the dark valley, although its passage may lead 
to paradise ; and with Charles Lamb, we do not want to 
lie down in the muddy grave, even with kings and prin- 
ces for our bed fellows. But the fiat of nature is inex- 
orable, there is no appeal from the great law which dooms 
us to dust. We flourish and we fade as the leaves of the 
forest ; and the flowers that bloom and wither in a day 
have not a frailer hope upon life than the mightiest mon- 
arch that ever shook the earth with his footsteps. Gen- 
erations of men appear and vanish as the grass, and the 
countless multitude which fills the world to-day, will to- 
morrow disappear as the footsteps on the shore. This is 



INTRODUCTORY. 13 

life. If we die to-day, the sun will shine as brightly and 
the birds sing as sweetly to-morrow. Business will not 
be suspended a moment, and the great mass will not be- 
stow a thought upon our memories. Is he dead ? will be 
the solemn inquiry of a few as they pass to their work. 
But no one will miss us except our immediate connexions, 
and in a short time they will forget us, and laugh as mer- 
rily as when we sat beside them. Thus shall we all now 
active in life pass away. Our children crowd close be- 
hind us, and they will soon be gone. In a few years not 
a living being can say, "I remember him! We lived in 
another age, and have no business with those who slum- 
ber in the tomb.'' This is life, how rapidly it passes! 

" To-day man's dressed in gold and silver bright, 
Wrapped in a shroud before to-morrow night ; 

To-day he's nice, and scorns to feed on crumbs, % 

To-morrow he's himself a dish for worms." 

It is the great art and philosophy of life, to make the 
best of the present, whether it be good or bad ; and to 
bear the one with resignation and patience, and to enjoy 
the other with thankfulness and moderation. Are we 
brought into the world, and allowed to occupy a place 
in it, only that we may pursue trifles ! that we may bru- 
tishly gratify our appetites and passions ! that we may 
leave the world at last, perhaps at the expiration of three 
score years and ten, without having derived any advan- 
tage from being in it, or conferring a single benefit upon 
it! The Bible describes the years of man to be three 
score years and ten, or four score years. Now, life is 
very uncertain, and we may not live a single day longer ; 
but if we divide the four score years of an old man's life 
into twelve parts, like the dial of the clock, it will allow 
almost seven years for every figure. When a boy is 
seven years old then it is one o'clock of his life ; when 
he arrives at fourteen years it will be two o'clock ; when 
at twenty-one years it will be three o'clock, should it 
please God thus to spare his life. In this manner we 
may always know the time of our life, and looking at 
the clock may remind us of it. At what hour you shall 
die, is only known to Him to whom all things are 
known. I know not what o'clock it may be with the 



14 INTRODUCTORY. 

reader, but I know very well what time it is with myself; 
and that if I mean to do anything in this world which 
hitherto I have neglected, it is high time to set about it. 
Look about you, I earnestly entreat you, and now and 
then ask yourself, reader, what o'clock it is with you. 

The Rev. Mr. Barnes in his sermon on "Life at Three 
Score," illustrates the magnitude of eternal things as he 
approached the end of life, compared with those which 
ordinarily occupy the attention of mankind, by the fol- 
lowing beautiful figure : — The earth as it moves in its 
orbit from year to year, maintains its distance of ninety- 
five millions of miles from the sun ; and the sun at its 
rising or its setting, seems at all times to be of the same 
magnitude — to human view an object always small as 
compared with our world. But suppose the earth should 
leave its orbit and make its way in a direct line towards 
the sun, how soon would the sun seem to enlarge its di- 
mensions ? How vast and bright it would become ! How 
soon would it fill the whole field of vision, and all the 
earth dwindle to nothing ! So human life now appears 
to me. In earlier years, eternity appeared distant and 
small in importance. But at the period of life which I 
have now reached, it seems to me as if the earth had left 
the orbit of its annual movements, and was making a 
rapid and direct flight to the sun. The objects of eterni- 
ty towards which I am moving rapidly, enlarge them- 
selves. They have become overpoweringly bright and 
grand. They fill whole fields of vision, and the earth, 
which with all is the common object of human ambition 
and pursuit, is vanishing away. If it is well for a man 
to live at all, he should endeavor to avoid all those influ- 
ences which detract from the beauty and harmony ot hu- 
man existence. In other words he should "make the 
most of life," and not allow himself to be distracted, an- 
noyed, or confounded by anything. He should fully 
possess himself, being at peace with his own soul, and 
having great good will for all mankind. Life, then, will 
have a beautiful significance to him ; its current will be 
deep and flow gently on — in all the beauties of the world 
reflected. Of human life as a comprehensive whole, we 



INTRODUCTORY. 15 

only see one side on this hitherward shore. Here we 
see but the beginning of it. The end — the other side — 
is to be taken in by faith. The Apostles saw it. Hin- 
drances, pressures, troubles, he saw, were working in us 
in some mysterious manner, so that they should evolve 
for us "a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 1 ' 
Do the best you can where you are ; when that is ex- 
hausted God will open a door for you, and a voice will 
call, "Come up hither into a brighter sphere." That is 
what is called "trusting in Providence!". 

If you would live to purpose, and live long, live indus- 
triously, temperately, regularly, all the while maintaining 
" a conscience void of offence toward God and toward 
man." Live long and happy. However mean your life 
is, meet it and live it ; do not shun it and call it hard 
names. It is not so bad as you are. When Anaxagoras 
was told of the death of his son, he only said, I knew he 
was mortal. So we, in all casualties of life, should say, I 
knew my riches were uncertain, that my friend was but 
a man. Such considerations would soon pacify us, be- 
cause all our troubles proceed from their being unexpected. 
Life is to the unhappy as a prison, from whose gloom they 
cannot escape ; while to the happy, it resembles a vast 
palace filled with all that can delight. The prison may 
be rendered endurable by resignation; but the palace 
loses some of its bright coloring and gilding every day, 
until nought but faded remnants of its pristine beauty 
remain. For my part I am not so much troubled about 
my future state, as about my present character in the 
sight of a holy and heart- searching God. To live a holy, 
self-denying life, I conceive to be of the first importance. 
It is by the daily lives of Christians that Christ is either 
honored or dishonored. Take care to live well, no less 
than to live long ; the former is in a man's power, the 
latter may not be. To be always afraid of losing life, is, 
indeed, scarcely to enjoy a life that can deserve the care 
of preservation ; and since life itself is uncertain, nothing 
which has life for a basis, can have much stability. How 
unreasonable is it to begin to live when we can live no 



16 INTRODUCTORY. 

longer ! That man does not live as he should who does 
not reckon every day as his last. 

Some are exceeding diligent in acquiring a vast com- 
pass of learning ; some in aspiring to honors and prefer- 
ments ; some in heaping up riches ; others intent upon 
pleasures and diversions ; hunting, or play, or vain con- 
trivances to pass away their time ; others are taken up in 
useless speculations; others set up for men of business, 
and spend all their days in hurry and noise ; but amidst 
this variety the happy always apply themselves to the 
wisdom which should direct their lives. Life is often a 
continual struggle after that which we cannot take with 
us, riches ; which seem given to us as the nurse gives the 
child a pretty ornament or shell from the mantel-piece to 
keep it quiet, until it falls asleep, when it drops from its 
helpless hands, and is replaced, to please other babies in 
their turn. Every one should consider that the way to 
usefulness, to honor, and heaven,is open before him, and also 
the way to shame, dishonor and hell, and a view of the con- 
sequences should determine which course he will pursue. 

Human life is often likened to a voyage. It is a voy- 
age to eternity, attended with great danger, as well as 
much hardship and toil. The sea we have to navigate, 
viewed in prospect, looks smooth and inviting ; but be- 
neath, it conceals shoals, quicksands, and rocks ; and 
great multitudes in attempting to reach the distant shores 
are shipwrecked and lost. No man knows his destiny. 
We pass our lives in regretting the past, complaining of 
the present, and indulging false hopes of the future. 
Every anniversary of a birth-day is the dispelling of a 
dream. We aspire and aspire and then give in. Life in 
this particular is like a coffin, which widens up to a cer- 
tain point, and then tapers off again. Happy the man 
who sees a God employed in all the good and ill that 
chequer life. 

We all live two lives — a life of action and a life of af- 
terthought. The man who lives morally, usefully, intel- 
lectually — who is good, does good, and turns all his men- 
tal and moral faculties to good account, may be said to 
live two self-satisfactory lives in one. His Life of Acts, 



INTRODUCTORY. 1 7 

made up of the performance of his obligations to God, 
his neighbor and himself, must in the main be happy. 
His Life of Afterthought, in which memory summons his 
Life of Action to the bar of Conscience — where it is 
weighed in the balance of Justice, and not found want- 
ing — cannot be otherwise than consolatory. But as the 
good we have done grows more and more comforting to 
us as we reflect upon it, so does the evil we have com- 
mitted grow in horror as it glares upon us from the vistas 
of memory. We have our choice. We can be twice 
blessed or twice cursed. Blessed in doing and in think- 
ing of what we have done, or cursed alike in the act and 
the afterthought. We can people the present with pur- 
suing fiends or ministering angels, who will come to us 
in the future from what will then be the past, to torment 
or bless us. Such a present receives a new glory in 
changing to the past. Let the young and thoughtless 
understand, at the very outset of their active career, 
that the evil to-day cannot elude the scrutinizing to- 
morrow. We do not refer to the ultimate scrutiny of 
our deeds ; but to that which precedes it and forewarns 
us what its result may be. Well does Macbeth say 

" We still have judgment liere" 

Remembrance goes like a resurrectionist to the graves of 
our past errors and crimes, and shows us their skeletons. 
The conventional robes in which we dressed them to 
make them seemly are gone — the tinsel of subterfuge 
and sophistry with which we bedecked their loathsome- 
ness has fallen away — self-deception is no longer possible, 
and we shrink from the foul offspring of our misguided 
souls, but cannot, dare not repudiate them. If the young 
doubt the vraisemblance of this picture, let them ask the 
old, and they will learn that its drawing is correct and 
its tints true. Ah, if the man of the world were only 
as careful to consult his conscience on points of moral 
right, as to consult his lawyer on points of law, how 
much misery would he not escape both in his life of ac- 
tion and his life of afterthought. 

This life is the spring-time of eternity — the time to 

sow the seeds of woe or the seeds of bliss. Our life is 
2 



18 INTRODUCTORY. 

one long lesson. To come but once into the world, and 
trifle away the right use of it, making that a burden 
which was given for a blessing, is strange infatuation. 
Study to promote the happiness of mankind ; it is the 
true end of your creation. 

There is nothing that so much engages our affections 
to this world as the want of proper consideration about 
how soon we are to leave it. Strange, murmers the dy- 
ing invalid, looking out from his window upon the world — 
strange ! how the beauty and mystery of all nature are 
heightened by the near prospect of that coming darkness 
which will sweep them all away ! The very limitation 
of the term of enjoyment has much to do with the ex- 
quisiteness of life's pleasures. It is the perishing blos- 
som that is so pre-eminently beautiful ! 

Life is an opiate — it excites us at first, and then leaves 
us sleepy, weary, and disgusted; for most men employ 
their first years so as to make their last miserable. Life 
is the jailor of the soul in this filthy prison, and its only 
deliverer is death ; what we call life is a journey to death, 
and what we call death is a passport to life. Life is an 
isthmus between two great eternities. Life, after all, is 
but a bundle of hints, each suggesting actual and posi- 
tive developement, but rarely reaching it. When all is 
done, human life is, at the greatest and best, but like a 
fro ward child, that must be played with and humored a 
little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep — and then the 
care is over. The vanity of human life is like a river, 
constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on. 
If one only pauses, now and then, in life's "forced march," 
to count the numbers who have wearied by the way, of 
those who brushed with him the morning dews, he feels 
a sort of terror lest he finish his journey a stranger and 
alone. We spend much of life in making blunders, and 
more of it in correcting them. The world's experience 
preaches in vain, every man thinking himself an excep- 
tion to all general rules. It is when the work is finished 
that we feel how unfinished is the workmanship. 

Most people complain bitterly of the troubles of life, 
yet very often greatly increase life's real troubles by the 



INTRODUCTORY. 19 

anticipations of imaginary ones. Almost every man 
wastes part of his life in attempts to display qualities 
which he does not possess, and to gain applause which 
he cannot keep. We often speak of being " settled in 
life." We might as well speak of anchoring in the midst 
of the Atlantic Ocean. Like the leaf, life has its fading. 
We speak and think of it with sadness, just as we think 
of the Autumn season. But there should be no sadness 
at the fading of a life that has done well its work. If we 
rejoice at the advent of a new life, if we welcome the 
coming of a new pilgrim to the uncertainties . of this 
world's way, why should there be so much gloom when 
all these uncertainties are passed, and life at its waning 
wears the glory of a competent task ? Beautiful as is 
childhood in its freshness and innocence, its beauty is that 
of untried life. It is the beauty of promise, of Spring, 
of the bud. A holier and rarer beauty is the beauty 
which the waning life of faith and duty wears. It is the 
beauty of a thing completed; and as men come together 
to congratulate each other when some great work has 
been achieved, and see in its concluding nothing but 
gladness, so ought we to feel when the setting sun flings 
back its beams upon a life that has answered well life's 
purpose. When the bud.drops blighted, and the mildew 
blasts the early grain, and there goes all hope of the har- 
vest, one may well be sad ; but when the ripened year 
sinks amid its garniture of Autumn flowers and leaves, 
why should we regret or murmur ? And so a life that is 
ready and waiting for the "well done" of God, whose 
latest virtues and charities are the noblest, should be given 
back to God in uncomplaining reverence, we rejoicing 
that the earth is capable of so much goodness, and is 
permitted such virtue. Like flakes of snow that fall un- 
perceived upon the earth, the seemingly unimportant 
events of life succeed one another. Thus imperceptibly 
and swiftly life passes away. Life's moments are ever 
fleeting ; the generations of men come and pass away 
like the leaves of the forest; as the year blooms and 
fades, so does human life. Things past, present, and to 
come, are strangely uniform, and so analagous that forty 



20 INTRODUCTORY. 

years of human life may serve as a sample of ten thou- 
sand. The great struggles in life are limited to moments ; 
in the drooping of the head upon the bosom — in the pres- 
sure of the hand upon the brow. There are three modes 
of bearing the ills of life — by indifference, which is the 
most common ; by philosophy, which is the most osten- 
tatious ; and by religion, which is the most effectual; for 
it is religion alone that can teach us to bear them with 
resignation. Middle age and the decline of life which 
lesson our sense of enjoyment, increase our love of life ; 
and we find, as we journey on, the longer we live the 
more tenaciously we cling to life, which is only to be de- 
sired by those to whom death would be no gain. Meas- 
ure not life by the hopes and enjoyments of this world, 
but the preparation made for another ; rather looking 
forward to what you shall be than backward to what you 
have been. Human life is one great Saturday, in which 
the world should get ready for Sunday, closing up ac- 
counts with time, and putting things in order for a holi- 
day. 

This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
Ajid bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.— Shak. 



MAN AND WOMAN, 



A prudent woman is in the same class of honor with a 
wise man. The characteristic qua] i ties of woman — when 
true to the type of her being — her delicacy, modesty, 
reserve, and chastity of heart and feeling, word and ac- 
tion — her sweetness, gentleness, patience, sympathy, ten- 
derness, dependence, devotion ; her sensibility to beauty 
and grace, order, fitness, and propriety in speech, dress, 
behavior, everything ; her intellectual faculties — more 
receptive than productive — resting more on feeling than 
on thought — making her more susceptible of culture and 
refinement than apt for grasping the abstruse and rugged 
in science and practical life ; all these are her charms for 
man, through which man gets unspeakable good to his 
own nature; while man's harder texture in body and 
mind — his strength, courage, self-reliance, his grasp, force 
and productive power in the world of thought and ac- 
tion, draw woman to him. Thus each finds in the other 
what each one needs. The womanly woman feels her- 
self strong and brave when she leans on man, and man's 
manly courage grows stouter, and at the same time the 
rugged hardness of his nature is softened by tender rev- 
erence, as with one arm he supports and with the other 
protects the gentle one clinging to his side. In every- 
thing, in short, in which they are made different, it is 
that each may find their proper counterpart in the other. 
They are made different in order that they may become 
one. Out of this very difference springs the closest and 
richest union — the union of mutual love, whereof mar- 
riage is the outward representation. Only in this true 
married union, and in the home of love that builds itself 
up out of it, can the fulness and perfection of the- indi- 



22 MAN AND WOMAN. 

vidual life, dignity, and worth of each be found and 
realized. 

"Man is strong — woman is beautiful. Man is daring 
in conduct — woman is diffident and unassuming. Man 
shines abroad — woman at home. Man talks to convince 
— woman to persuade and please. Man has a rugged 
heart — woman a soft and tender one. Man prevents 
misery — woman relieves it. Man has science — woman 
taste. Man has judgment — woman sensibility. Man is 
a being of justice — woman of mercy." What man ex- 
pects to acquire by force of energy and the exercise of 
his talents, woman hopes to obtain by the power of pleas- 
ing, and her ascendency over the heart. The means are 
different, the ends in view the same ; namely, prosperity 
in life, and a desirable position in the world. There is 
no period in the life of man, as long as his mental and 
bodily powers remain unimpaired, in which he is social- 
ly disqualified for the race he has to run, and that con- 
test in which he is called upon to engage. He may 
remain a long time a silent, but watchful spectator of 
the scene ; or he may be disabled, and thrown off his 
balance ; but he can appear again, and by summoning 
his dormant faculties to his aid, he may succeed in di- 
viding the booty with his compeers, or in securing his 
share of the world's honor and spoils. To place a wo- 
man in early life in a career like this, is to alter her des- 
tiny, to endanger her respectability, to destroy her sym- 
pathies, and to subvert the intentions of Nature. If, by 
the influence of her charms, or the opportunities of her 
position, she has failed to procure a desirable elevation in 
society — or if, by a cruel destiny, she has been deprived 
of friends and fortune, and is urged to assert her rights, 
and to make her own way through the world — if her 
resolution can save her from despair, and her prin- 
ciples ot virtue from reproach — yet she labors under 
great disadvantages in placing herself upon the same 
footing with men, who are hardened to the world, and 
more accustomed to personal privations and toil. But 
nevertheless, there have been women wmo, impelled by 
high motives and a determined sense of duty, have sur- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 23 

mounted all these obstacles, and have acquired by their 
own efforts both fortune and influence ; and young 
America can show many such to the Old world. In 
every situation woman has more causes of grief than 
man, and suffers more than he. Man has his strength 
and the exercise of his power; he is busy, goes about, 
occupies his attention, thinks, looks forward to the future 
and finds consolation in it ; but woman stays at home, 
remains face to nice with her sorrow, from which nothing 
distracts her ; she descends to the very depths of the 
abyss it has opened, measures it, and often fills it with 
her vows and tears. To feel, to love, to suffer, to devote 
herself, will always be the text of the life of woman. 
She does nothing like us men. She thinks, speaks, acts 
differently. Her tastes differ from our tastes. Her blood 
does not follow the course of ours ; nor does she breathe 
as we breathe. Nature has arranged that woman's res • 
piration should be effected mainly by the four upper 
ribs. She does not eat like us ; neither so much, nor of 
the same dishes. Why ? Above all, for the reason that 
she does not digest like us ; at every moment her diges- 
tion is troubled by the excitability of her emotions. Man 
has a distinct language, precise and luminous speech, the 
clearness of the word. But woman, besides the word 
of man and the song of the bird, possesses a completely 
magical language, with which she intersperses the word 
or the song. Woman loves, and suffers ; she requires 
the support of a loving hand. It has been often said 
that it was the weakness of the infant which, by pro- 
longing the cares of education, originally created family. 
True, the child retains the mother ; but the man is at- 
tached to the domestic hearth by the mother herself, by 
his affection for the wife, and by the happiness he feels 
in protecting her. Superior and inferior to man, humil- 
iated by the heavy hand of nature, but at the same time 
inspired by intuitions of a higher order than man can 
ever experience, she has fascinated him, innocently 
bewitched him for ever. And man has remained en- 
chanted by the spell. This is what society is. Women 
are generally better creatures than men. Perhaps they 



24 MAN AND WOMAN. 

have, taken universally, weaker appetites and weaker 
intellects, but they have much stronger affections. A 
man with a bad heart has been sometimes saved by a 
strong head; but a corrupt woman is lost for ever. Most 
of their faults women owe to us, whilst we are indebted 
to them for most of our better qualities. 

Woman's influence is the sheet anchor of society ; and 
this influence is due, not exclusively to the fascination 
of[ her charms, but chiefly to the strength, uniformity 
and consistency of her virtues, maintained under so many 
sacrifices, and with so much fortitude and heroism. 
Without these endowments and qualifications, external 
attractions are nothing ; but with them, their power is 
irresistable. Beauty and virtue are the crowning attri- 
butes bestowed by nature upon woman, and the bounty 
of heaven more than compensates for the injustice of 
man. The possession of these advantages secures to her 
universally that degree of homage and consideration 
which renders her independent of the effects of unequal 
and arbitrary laws. But it is not the incense of idle 
worship wdrich is most acceptable to the heart of woman; 
it is, on the contrary, the just appreciation of her proper 
position, merits, and character, and this demands the ob- 
lation of no "mewling minstrelsy," the adulations of 

" No whining rhymster, with his schoolboy song." 

Ever true to her destiny, and estimating at their real 
value the higher perfections of human nature, when 
brought into contrast with what is puerile or ridiculous, 
woman surpasses man in the quickness of her perceptions 
and in the right direction of her sympathies. I do not 
hesitate to say that the women give to every nation a 
moral temperament which shows itself in all its politics. 
A hundred times have I seen weak men show public vir- 
tue because they had by their sides women who supported 
them, not by advice as to particulars, but by fortifying 
their feelings of duty, and directing their ambition. We 
have somewhere read that Henry Ward Beecher 
never said a truer thing than when he remarked that 
" God made woman to be better than man." This re- 
mark had been made substantially often enough before 



MAX AND WOMAN. 25 

by preachers, lecturers, romancers, and poets. Like 
many trite maxims which survive in form when their 
meaning is almost forgotten, few who uttered, and still 
fewer who heard it, perhaps, understood the full scope 
and force of its allusions. How eloquently, pathetically 
full of suggestion it is. " God made woman to be better 
than man" — made her to be morally and physically, a 
" thing of beauty and a joy forever." 

Six years ago, says the Milwaukee Gazette, a young 
man just entering on life, under the influence of rum, 
committed a crime against society, was tried in this city, 
convicted, and sent to Waupun, where he served out his 
time behind the prison bars. Before his trial a fair girl 
had promised to link fortunes with him, and cruel was 
the blow to her. But she loved him. All through his 
six years did she wait for his release. With a true 
woman's heart, she believed him innocent — innocent, at 
least, before God; and like the magnet, she held on her 
steady way, her heart ever pointing to the future. Long 
were the years to him. Slow passed the hours. Seconds 
were minutes, minutes hours, hours days, days weeks, 
weeks months, months years, and years were like ages. 
Every tolling of the prison-bell struck deep upon his 
heart, and every sunset took another thread from the 
long skein. Nor were the hours less weary to her. Hope, 
that blessed angel, sat by her day by day, and reposed 
on her pillow by night. Some there were who laughed 
at her holy love, who sneered so meanly at her lover, a 
prisoner miles away. But little it mattered to her; 
others might laugh — she wept; others might point to a 
man in prison garb, toiling away from morn till night, 
with but one star to guide him on. She saw but the 
honest soul that might be saved, or lost, and, woman that 
she was, nerved herself to bear their jibes and jeers. 
Blessed words came to him in his lonely cell, words of 
love, of kindness, and stronger grew the heart of him 
who had truly his better angel to watch over his unbro- 
ken fortune. Each word from her lightened the hours 
as they slowly went by, and larger grew the day on which 
liberty was to come. Men visited him, and with careless 



26 MAX AND WOMAN. 

word or speaking eye, threw into his cell a maddening 
thought on which his soul must feed, and tremblingly 
shrink to the darkest corner of his living temple. Then 
a letter from her would dash aside the dark curtains and 
beckon him on to a spot of sunshine outside, and beyond 
his present reach. So passed the years. Friends died 
and he wept over them. The sin was long since atoned 
for, and at last the little spot of sunshine crept into his 
cell, and entering by the key-hole of his door led him 
forth into the bright rays of liberty. He was conducted 
to the office of the prison, a citizen's dress in place of a pris- 
on suit given him, and led into an inner room where stood 
she, who, years before, had promised before God to be 
his. What a meeting ! On the evening train the two 
arrived in this city, and were, by one of our divines, 
joined in marriage. We were witness to the ceremony 
and never shall forget it. Never forget the eye moisten- 
ed with happiness, nor the throbbing of the heart that so 
long waited and trusted. Saved, saved ! May the future 
be all the brighter for the dark cloud that has so long 
hung over it, and true friends ever ready to lend a help- 
ing hand. We believe in woman's love — in woman's 
devotion the more after knowing the facts above stated. 
God bless the true heart wherever found. 

Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His 
nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of 
the world. Love is but the embellishment of his early 
life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He 
seeks for fame, for fortune, for place in the world's thought, 
and dominion over his fellow-men. But a woman's whole 
life is a history of the affections. The heart is her world ; 
it is there her ambition strives for empire ; it is there her 
avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth her 
sympathies on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul 
in the traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked, her case 
is hopeless — for it is bankruptcy of the heart. 

Woman is a very nice and a very complicated machine. 
Her springs are infinitely delicate, and differ from those 
of a man as the work of a repeating-watch does from 
that of a town clock. Look at her body — how delicately 



MAN AND WOMAN. 27 

formed! Observe her understanding, how subtle and 
acute ! But look into her heart — there is the watch- 
work, composed of parts so minute in themselves, and so 
wonderfully combined, that they must be seen by a mi- 
croscopic eye to be clearly comprehended. The percep- 
tion of woman is as quick as lightning. Her penetration, 
is intuition — I had almost said instinct. Spirit in con- 
versation depends upon fancy, and women all over the 
world talk better than men. 

We never enter the omnibus or the steamboat without 
expecting to be dazzled by some lustrous divinity whose 
glance makes golden the common air ; and we never 
read of a revolution in human affairs without expecting 
a new exhibition of magnanimity in man. Why is this, 
except that such things are the rightful heritage of man, 
the inevitable ornament of his manhood ? Some moralist 
has said that no woman had a right to be plain ; which is 
true. Her nature entitles her to be beautiful only, and 
when it is really operative always renders her so. Never 
yet saw any one beauty in woman which was not purely 
womanly, and therefore, impersonal. The person who 
reveals it, joyously feels herself to be merely the priestess 
or minister of this sacred flame, and shrinks from all 
personal property in it, as from sacrilege. So also, no 
man has a right to be mean or trivial. His essential 
manhood entitles hinrto be only manly ; and when he 
falls short of this we may be sure that his inward ampli- 
tude has been prejudiced by the limits of his outward 
position. 

The men who flatter women do not know 7 them suffi- 
ciently ; and the men who only abuse them do not know 
them at all. No doubt Providence has willed that man 
should be the head of the human race, even as woman 
is its heart ; that he should be its strength, as she is its 
solace ; that he should be its wisdom, as she is its grace; 
that he should be its mind, its impetus, and its courage, 
and she its sentiment, its charm, and its consolation. 

The Westminster Review says: "In days not far dis- 
tant men found their excitement, and filled up their 
time, in violent bodily exercise, noisy merriment, and 



28 MAN AND WOMAN. 

intemperance. They have now, in all but the very poor- 
est classes, lost their inclination for these things, and for 
the coarser pleasures generally ; they have now scarcely 
any tastes but those which they have in common with 
woman, and, for the first time in the world, men and 
women are really companions. A most beneficial change, 
if the companionship were between equals, but being 
between unequals, it produces what good observers have 
noticed, though without perceiving its cause, a progres- 
sive deterioration among men in what had hitherto been 
considered the masculine excellences. Those who are 
so careful that women should not become men, do not 
see that men are becoming what they have decided that 
women should be — are falling into the feebleness w^hich 
they have so long cultivated in their companions. Those 
who are associated in their lives tend to become assimi- 
lated in character. In the present closeness of associa- 
tion between the sexes, man cannot attain manliness un- 
less woman acquire it." 

It is only in America that women of all classes receive 
that respect and consideration which they are so unques- 
tionably entitled to by nature. This is so markedly the 
case, that foreigners notice it at once on arriving from 
abroad. Now, rightly viewed, and its bearings properly 
analyzed ; this is one of the strongest tokens of civiliza- 
tion that can be adduced, and actually amounts with us 
to a national characteristic. In Vienna women dig cellars 
and carry hods ; in Paris they clean the streets ; in Eng- 
land they drudge in the fields at manly labor, for six- 
pence a day; in America alone is their task confined to 
the domestic circle, and about the sacred hearth of homes 
they render so cheerful and happy. We are led to draw 
these comparisons, because by each arrival from the old 
world we are so impressed with the misery that all the 
humble classes suffer under monarchy ; and then we turn 
to contrast their deplorable lot with that of our own peo- 
ple. It is the natural result of a monarchial form of 
government to separate society into just two divisions, 
the high and low, the rich and poor. When monarchial 
power prevails, we see one class high up in the air bask- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 29 

ing ill sunshine, while the other is sunken amid the dirt 
and filth. Republicanism is the only true balance. It 
hangs the scales in the hands of justice, and nothing can 
turn the beam to favor one class of humanity over 
another. Great reforms cannot be consummated in a 
day ; and we do not yet despair of seeing the old world 
lighted upon republican altars. America is the Paradise 
of women. They are more respected, honored and 
loved, and more tenderly treated, in this country than 
in any other on earth. In other lands, women, in many 
instances, and in some constantly, toil in the fields like 
beasts of burden, while their fathers, and husbands, and 
brothers and sons sit smoking and drinking at home, or 
in the public bar-room, thus squandering in dissipation 
the pittance so hardly earned by the females of the fam- 
ily: What makes those men who associate habitually 
with women, superior to others? What makes that 
■woman who is accustomed and at ease in the society of 
men, superior to her sex in general? Solely because 
they are in the habit of free, graceful, continued conver- 
sation with the other sex. Women in this way lose their 
frivolity; their faculties awaken; their delicacies and 
peculiarities unfold all their beauty and captivation in 
the spirit of intellectual rivalry. And the men lose their 
pedantic, rude, declamatory, or sullen manner. The 
coin of the understanding and the heart is changed con- 
tinually. Their asperities are rubbed off, their better 
materials polished and brightened, and their richness, 
like fine gold, is wrought into finer workmanship by the 
finger of woman, than it ever could be by those of men. 
The iron and steel of their character are hidden, like the 
harness and armor of a giant, in studs and knots of gold 
and precious stones, when they are not wanted in actual 
warfare. The mind of woman is peculiarly constituted, 
and exquisitely adapted for playing upon and influencing 
the finer parts of man's. nature ; and whenever the heart 
of man is dead to influence, it is dead to almost every 
higher and purer feeling which alone distinguishes him 
from the beasts of the forest. As women are respected 
by the men. of the age, so may, from time to time, be 



30 MAN AND WOMAN. 

traced by an unerring measure, the degree of civilization 
to which that generation has attained. We do not mean 
by respect, the senseless adoration — the outward adula- 
tion, but real contempt — displayed towards woman dur- 
ing the middle ages, but a deeper, a more lasting, amore 
valuable kind of respect. Emerson says, " We consider 
man the representative of intellect, and the woman as 
the representative of affection ; but each shares the char- 
acteristic of the other, only in the man one predominates, 
and in the woman the other. We know woman as affec- 
tionate, as religious, as oracular, as delighting in grace 
and order, possessed of taste. In all ages, woman has 
been the representative of religion. In all countries it 
is the women who fill the temples. In every religious 
movement the woman has had an active and powerful 
part, not only in the most civilized, but in the most un 
civilized countries; not less in the Mohammedan than 
the Greek and Roman religions. She holds man to re- 
ligion. There is no man so reprobate, so careless of 
religious duty, but that he delights to have his wife a 
saint. All men feel the advantages that abound of that 
quality in a woman. My own feeling is that in all ages 
woman has held substantially the same influence. I think 
that superior women are rare. I think that women feel 
when they are in the press, as men of genius are said to 
do among energetic workers — that they see through all 
these efforts with finer eyes than their noisy masters. I 
think that all men in the presence of the best women 
feel overlooked and judged, and sometimes sentenced. 
They are the educators in all our society. Through their 
sympathy and quickness they are the proper mediators 
between those who have knowledge and those who want 
it." 

It is a striking fact, that both the visions of angels, 
both the first annunciations of the resurrection, and both 
the first appearances of Christ, were made to women. 
Why was this? It seems strange that the first tidings 
of the resurrection from human lips should have been, 
not from the lips of apostles, who were to be the author- 
ized heralds of this fact, but from the women who were 



MAN AND WOMAN. 31 

to be forbidden to speak in the church. It seems, at first 
sight, a singular exception to the divinely ordained plan 
for preaching the glad tidings of finished redemption. 
Yet a little reflection will show that it is not exceptional, 
but the very order of arrangement that is repeated in 
every generation of the world. The fact is the same 
that exists in the case of a vast majority of Christians 
ever since. We first hear the story of the cross, the 
sepulchre and the throne, not from the lips of a man who 
stands as an ambassador for Christ, but from the lips of 
a woman — a pious mother, sister, or nurse— who pours 
into our infantile hearts this wonderful tale of love and 
mercy. Some, it is true, are left to an early orphanage, 
and some to a godless parentage ; but even of these the 
general fact is true, that the first knowledge of Jesus is 
learned, not from the lips of men, but from the lips of 
women. Whatever may be the customs and laws of a 
country, the women of it decide the morals. They reign 
because they hold possession of our affections. But 
their influence is more or less salutory, according to the 
degree of esteem which is granted them. Whether they 
are our idols or companions, the reaction is complete, and 
they make us such as they are themselves. It seems as 
if nature connected our intelligence with their dignity, 
as we connect our morality with their virtue. This, 
therefore, is a law of eternal justice : Man cannot degrade 
a woman without himself falling into degredation ; he 
cannot raise them without himself becoming better. Let 
us cast our eyes over the globe, and observe those two 
great divisions of the human race, the east and the west. 
One-half of the ancient world remain without progress 
or thought, and under the load of a barbarous cultiva- 
tion ; women there are serfs. The other half advance 
towards freedom and light; the women are loved and 
honored. 

We know no rights of woman that are separated from 
the rights of man. There is no injury inflicted upon the 
one that does not recoil upon the other. If the Turk 
keeps woman in abject slavery, the Turk himself becomes 
a degenerate slave. 



32 MAN AND WOMAN. 

Says, the Rev. E. H. Chapin : The relation between 
man and woman is the most beautiful expression of the 
great law of nature. Woman is simply the equal of man — 
nothing more, nothing less. We have no right to deter- 
mine what is woman's sphere by any arbitrary prejudices. 
I cannot recognize any such fact as man's rights or wo- 
man's rights ; I only recognize human rights. Woman's 
orbit is the orbit of her humanity, and hence she ought 
to be man's equal — equal before the world, before the 
law, as before God. And let no one be disturbed by vis- 
ions of strong-minded women. The question is, what is 
truth, and not what are imaginable consequences. Man 
may run against God's will, but cannot alter it. I urge 
that woman should actually be something more than she 
has been held to be. She has been placed above the 
scale and cast below it ; she has been man's slave and 
his empress. In one place you may see her, the poor 
drudge of the wash-tub or the needle, working to sup- 
port a drunken husband ; in another place we see her in 
some parlor listening to the confectionery of small talk 
furnished by some dandy. Society around us is but 
little more than a modification of these two pictures. 
What we want is some way of deliverance for woman 
from being a mere slave, and something more substan- 
tial than those accomplishments which make her a mere 
gewgaw. The true idea of civilization will never be 
unfolded till woman has been placed upon an equality 
with man. In the cabin of the Mayflower — in the war 
of the Revolution, when the wives loaded the muskets, 
there were such men, because there were such women. 
The grandest transaction of history is unfolded, when 
she stands nearest to man as an equal ; and when Chris- 
tianity shall have reached its highest point, her heart will 
be near his hand. Let women stand upon the ground of 
their human nature, then there will be mutual honor and 
mutual help ; then there will be no discordant music in 
the march from the paradise which they left together — to 
that paradise which they hope to attain. 

It is pleasing to contemplate the theme of female ex- 
cellence. The heart of man warms with emotion as he 



MAN AND WOMAN. 33 

hears of the noble deeds of woman — as he views her 
quiet goodness— as he marks her conjugal devotion, her 
fidelity, her firmness of principle, the thousand little 
tendernesses clinging around her heart, animating her 
to please by all the winning graces and attractions that 
can fix affection ; nor relaxing after in the cultivation of 
those powers which first commanded admiration, because 
she has secured her victory. He loves and admires her 
when thus true to the amiable impulses of her nature. 
But, if captivating in the freshness and poetry of her 
early feelings, when the fragrance of her own spirit falls 
on everything like dew, how much higher does she erect 
herself in his esteem when the hour of trial comes, when 
adversity overtakes those she loves, and the appeal to 
her sympathies is the strongest that can be made, because 
it comes through the channel of her affections. Then see 
what a power of endurance she exhibits ; what fortitude, 
what energy. Qualities w T hich, amid the sunshine of 
prosperity, lay latent and unperceived, for want of occa- 
sion to call them forth, now appear to view with the 
hope-reviving influence which we may suppose a near 
and friendly beacon would have upon the sinking heart 
of the shipwrecked mariner. Difficulties which crush 
the hearty spirit of man, and subdue his strength to the 
weakness of a child, are met by her with a courage that 
seems to increase proportionally to its demand. With a 
self sustaining energy, she counteracts the impression 
of grief in her own heart, and roused by her love and 
constancy, she turns to her partner, now dearer than 
ever from the touch of misfortune, to console, to invig- 
orate, to assist ; shedding a benign influence upon his 
existence, which causes him to feel, amid all his misery, 
that happiness still remains for him while blessed with 
the affection of such a friend and ministrant ; that labor, 
however rude, cannot degrade him while he is encour- 
aged by the esteem of a heart so noble and so true. 

The single woman is as important an element of pri- 
vate and social happiness as the married one. The util- 
ities of each are different, but both are necessary. The 
single lady is, in some points of view, placed in a posi- 



34 MAN AND WOMAN. 

tion of advantage. The wife resigns, or ought to resign, 
her claims to general attention, and to concentrate and 
confine her regards, wishes and objects to her chosen 
companion, and to domestic claims and scenes. She has 
quitted the public stage ; and seeks no more the general 
gaze ; she has become part of a distinct and separate 
proprietary. But the unmarried lady remains still the 
candidate for every honorable notice, and injures no one 
by receiving it. Those of the male sex who are in the 
same condition, are at as full liberty to pay their proper 
attentions as she is to receive them. Being in this posi- 
tion to society at large, she is always interesting where- 
ever she goes, if she preserve good temper and cultivate 
truly feminine qualities. No green oasis in the sandy 
desert, nor momentary gleam of sunshine through a rift 
in clouds that seem portentious of coming storm and 
devastation, is more grateful than a happy, cheerful wo- 
man ; for she is indeed the beautiful spot in what would 
else be life's desert, and the enlivening bit of sunshine 
that can make those around her forget the clouds of mis- 
fortune and doubt that are ever threatening. People 
may praise, and even elevate to a seat among the saints, 
those who heroically die as martyrs in some holy cause, 
or they may go wild over the possession, by others, of 
extraordinary gifts, that bring the world in homage to 
their feet, or strew their pathway with roses of adulation 
and flattery ; but no sweetness is so lasting, nor influence 
so great, nor remembrance so holy and soothing, as that 
of a cheerful, smiling sunshiny woman, even though she 
may at times seem almost insignificant by the side of 
those gifted by nature with more resplendent talents, or 
crowned by the world with more regal honors. These 
are the women who make life a dancing kaleidoscope of 
hope to the beginner just crossing its threshold, and a 
grateful panorama of delight to those who look back 
upon its joys, and wonder if the future to which they 
are going can crown it with anything more beautiful or 
happifying. Nothing ever seems to go wrong with them ; 
for they make the best of all trials and crosses, and, if 
they cannot do away altogether with the evil that an- 
nounces itself as their guest, they cover it up and hide it 



MAN AND WOMAN. 35 

with the good that accompanies it, till presently they 
themselves think it must have been a blessing in disguise. 
No trouble is too serious for them to thus gild with the 
doubly refined gold of cheerfulness and hope ; and no 
calamity is so dark and deep, but the sunlight of a hap- 
py face, falling across its turbid waters, will make an an- 
swering gleam. Oh these happy women! how little do 
the selfish and the sombre appreciate them at their true 
worth ! And how often, too, do their delicate shoulders 
bear weights that would crush others to the ground ! 
Blessed be their eyes that they see sunshine and joy 
where others see only woe and darkness ; even as the 
prophets of ancient times saw angels where others could 
see nothing but the coarse materiality everywhere mani- 
fest ! and blessed also be the slender fingers that often 
guide the machinery of life that leaves others, seemingly 
more rugged, torn and bleeding! how patient we become 
when we look into the clear depths of the first, and how 
strong when the last twine with ours in a clasp we are 
loth to release ! No one knows — no one ever will know 
till we stand upon the Abrahamic heights above the lower 
plane of selfishness — how much we owe to these cheer- 
ful, hopeful, uncomplaining, happy women ! 

A happy woman ! is not she the very sparkle and sun- 
shine of life ? A woman who is happy because she can- 
not help it — whose smile even the coldest sprinkle of 
misfortune cannot dampen. Men make a terrible mistake 
when they marry for beauty, for talent, for style ; the 
sweetest wives are those who possess the magic secret of 
being contented under any circumstances. Rich or poor, 
high or low, it makes no difference; the bright little 
fountain of joy bubbles up just as musically in their hearts. 
Do they live in a cottage ? the fire-light that leaps up on 
its humble hearth becomes brighter than the gilded 
chandaliers in an Aladdin palace. Do they eat brown 
bread or drink cold water from the well? it affords them 
more solid satisfaction than the millionaire's pate de foie 
gras and iced champagne. Nothing ever goes wrong 
with them ; no trouble is so serious for them, no calam- 
ity so dark and deep that the sunlight of their smiles 



36 MAN AND WOMAN. 

will not " make the best of it." Was ever the stream of 
light so dark and unpropitious that the sunshine of a 
happy face falling across its turbid tide would not awaken 
an answering gleam ? Why, these joyous tempered peo- 
ple, do not know the good they do. What spectacle 
more pleasing does the world afford than a happy woman 
contented in her sphere, ready at all times to benefit her 
little world by her exertions, and transforming the briars 
and thorns of life into roses of Paradise by the magic of 
her touch ? There are those who are thus happy be- 
cause they cannot help it — no misfortunes dampen their 
sweet smiles, and they diffuse a cheerful glow around 
them as they pursue the even tenor of their way. They 
have the secret of contentment, whose value is above 
the philosopher's stone ; for without seeking the baser 
exchange of gold, which may buy some sorts of pleasure, 
they convert everything they touch into joy. They may 
be rich or poor, high or low, admired or forsaken by 
the fickle world ; but the sparkling fountain of happi- 
ness bubbles up in their hearts and makes them radiant- 
ly beautiful. Though they live in a log cabin, they make 
it shine with a lustre which Kings and Queens may covet, 
and they make wealth a fountain of blessings to the 
children of poverty. Happy women are the highest 
types of humanity, and we cannot say how much we 
owe to them for the progress, of the race. A good wo- 
man never grows old. Years may pass over her head, 
but if benevolence and virtue dwell in her heart, she is 
as cheerful as when the spring of life first opened to her 
view. When we look upon a„good woman, we never 
think of her age ; she looks as charming as when the 
rose of youth first bloomed on her cheek. That rose has 
not faded yet; it will never fade. In her neighborhood 
she is the friend and benefactor. In the church, the de- 
vout worshipper and exemplary christian. Who does 
not love and respect the woman who has passed her days 
in acts of kindness and mercy — who has been the friend 
of man and God — whose whole life has been a scene of 
kindness and love, a devotion to truth and religion ? We 
repeat, such a woman cannot grow old. She will always 



MAN AND WOMAN. 37 

be fresh and buoyant in spirits, and active in humble 
deeds of mercy and benevolence. If the young lady 
desires to retain the bloom and beauty of youth, let her 
not yield to the sway of fashion and folly ; let her love 
truth and virtue ; and to the close of life she will retain 
those feelings which now make life appear a garden of 
sweets — ever fresh and ever new. So long as a woman 
inspires love she is not old. But, what is it to be old ? 
It does not depend upon the fact that we have existed 
during a certain mysterious number of years which have 
been allotted to each of us. To be old, is to have no 
longer a beauty that charms. If a woman preserves the 
attractions of youth until she reaches the age of one 
hundred, she will be younger than the woman of twenty 
who has lost them. Ah, if only the mellow-minded 
matron could preserve the shining skin of youth! but 
still this mellowness accompanies decay. If a woman 
could be beautiful without, when the mind has individu- 
alized within, when she can talk from her own experi- 
ence, not from her mamma's, and is qualified to hold an 
unreflected opinion, because she has had her own suffer- 
ing, her own genuine loves and aversions, ay, and her 
chastening disappointments — those gray tints in the land- 
scape, without which all is glare and vulgarity — what an 
enchantress should we have ! nothing could withstand 
her. But with the mind of the siren come the wrinkles 
and the gray hairs to save us. The real influence of a 
true woman is stronger to-day than ever, only our stand- 
ard of true womanhood is higher. We ask more at her 
hands because we realize more fully her magnificent ca- 
pabilities. Upon the stage her greatness has long been 
recognized, but in the world of art, and music, and fic- 
tion, and the still nobler social influences which she 
wields, her laurels are greener and of fresher growth. 
For the first time, too, her intellect is grappling with 
subjects hitherto denied her. Into the mysteries of Na- 
ture she is taking her first step. Science is showing her 
strange wonders. Philosophy is teaching her the occult 
forces and hidden laws of the world of thought. The 
dull monotony of domestic duty rises in the dignity of 



38 MAN AND WOMAN. 

intelligent labor as she sees its deep-meaning and far- 
reaching power. For the old helplessness comes the 
restful consciousness of acknowledged strength ; and the 
stifling calm of a life without high aims, is exchanged 
for the quickened impulses and healthful activities of 
ambitious effort. 

D'Israeli, speaking of the society of refined and charm- 
ing women, says: — u It is an acquaintance which, when 
habitual, exercises a great influence over the tone of 
the mind, even if it does not produce any more violent 
effects. It refines taste, quickens the perception, and 
gives, as it were, a grace and flexibility to your intellect." 
Somewhere else the same writer remarks that, "men 
are as much stimulated to mental effort by the sympathy 
of the gentler sex, as by the desire of power and fame. 
Women are more disposed to appreciate worth and intel- 
lectual superiority than men, or, at least, they are as 
often captivated by the noble manifestations of genius, 
as by the fascinations of manners and the charms of 
persons." And Sidney Smith says: — *' Among men of 
sense and liberal politeness, a woman who has successfully 
cultivated her mind, without diminishing the gentleness 
and propriety of her manners, is always sure to meet 
with a respect and attention bordering on enthusiasm." 
Again, another writer observes that, " Of all other views 
a man may, in time, grow tired, but in the countenances 
of women there is a variety w r hich sets satiety at defi- 
ance. ' The divine right of beauty,' says Junius, c is the 
only divine right a man can acknowledge, and a pretty 
woman the only tyrant he is not authorized to resist." 

Said Mr. Soule, in a speech delivered in the California 
Senate: — " When I reflect upon the conduct of many 
married men in California — their faithlessness to every 
vow which they made at the altar — how completely they 
fail in the performance of their duties — how virtuous 
and industrious, faithful and patient women are imposed 
upon by worthless brutes of husbands, as great tyrants at 
home as drunkards and debauchers abroad — my respect 
for the sex prompts me to do all within my power to 
protect her rights and secure her happiness. I love wo- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 39 

man — I have loved her all my life, and dying hope to be. 
faithful to the same high and inspiring sentiments. For 
amid all the varied scenes, temptations, struggles and 
hopes of existence, one star, brighter than all others, has 
lighted and guided me onward; if ever I had any high 
and noble ambition, the exciting energy has been in the 
approving smile coming from the eye of woman. And I 
judge her influence is thus upon others. Gentle in her 
affections, yet mighty in her influence, her medium rule 
is as powerful as the ballot box, and she only needs the 
protection of law against those who have no law in their 
habits and propensities. She has lulled me from my 
boyhood with the soft and winning influence of her vir- 
tues and beauty. I remember my first love ; my baby 
affections at four years of age. I have been in love 
nearly every month since — save the dark and rayless 
days and years which succeeded the desolate hearth and 
made the heart, too, desolate. And never, sir, while I 
remember my mother, long since in the grave — I remem- 
ber the night when she died — never while I recollect my 
sisters and the abuses which might have been theirs — 
never while I hold in memory one other — and her mem- 
ory is all that is left to me — shall I refuse to give my 
voice and influence, and my vote, for any measure neces- 
sary to protect and cherish the weaker and better por- 
tion of creation against the oppression, neglect or abuse 
of my own sex." 

The influence which woman exerts is silent and still, 
felt rather than seen, not chaining the hands, but res- 
training our actions by gliding into the heart. Quincy 
being asked why there were more women than men, re- 
plied, u It is in conformity with the arrangements of 
nature. We always see more of heaven than of earth." 
He cannot be an unhappy man who has the love and 
smile of woman to accompany him in every department 
of life. The world may look dark and cheerless without 
— enemies may gather in his path — but when he returns 
to his fireside, and feels the tender love of woman, he 
forgets his cares and troubles, and is a comparatively 
happy man. He is but half prepared for the journey of 



40 MAX AND WOMAN. 

life, who takes not with him that friend who will forsake 
him in no emergency — who will divide his sorrows — in- 
crease his joys — lift" the veil from his heart — and throw 
sunshine amid the darkest scenes. No, that man cannot 
be miserable who has such a companion, be he ever so 
poor, despised, and trodden upon by the world. No 
trait of character is more valuable in a female than the 
possession of a sweet temper. Home can never be made 
happy without it. It is like the flowers that spring up 
in our pathway, reviving and cheering us. Let a man 
go home at night, wearied and worn by the toils of the 
day, and how soothing is a word by a good disposition ! 
It is sunshine falling on his heart. He is happy, and the 
cares of life are forgotten. A sweet temper has a sooth- 
ing influence over the minds of a whole family — when it 
is found in the wife or mother, you observe kindness and 
love predominating over the natural feeling of a bad heart. 
Smiles, kind words and looks characterize the children, 
and peace and love have their dwelling there. Study, 
then, to acquire and retain a sweet temper. It is more 
valuable than gold, it captivates more than beauty ; and 
to the close of life, it retains all its freshness and power. 
The next best thing to a really good woman is a really 
good-natured one. Nothing can be more touching than 
to behold a woman who had been all tenderness and de- 
pendence, and alive to every trivial roughness while 
treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in 
mental force to be the comforter and supporter of her 
husband under misfortune, and abiding with unshrinking 
firmness the bitterest winds of adversity. As the vine 
which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, 
and been lifted by it in sunshine, will, when the hardy 
plant is rived by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its 
caressing tendrils, and bind up its scattered boughs. So 
it is beautifully ordained that woman who is the mere 
dependent and ornament of man in happiest hours, 
should be his stay and solace when smitten by sudden 
calamity. 

Mysterious woman! Place her among flowers, foster 
her as a tender plant, and she is a thing of fancy, way- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 41 

wardness, and sometimes folly — annoyed by a dew drop,, 
fretted by the touch of a butterfly's wing, and ready to 
faint at the rustle of a beetle ; the zephyrs are too rough, 
the showers too heavy, and she is overpowered by the 
perfume of a rose bud. But let real calamity come — 
rouse her affections — enkindle the fires of her heart, and 
mark her then ; how her heart strengthens itself — how 
strong is her purpose. Place her in the heat of battle — 
give her a child, a bird — anything she loves or pities, to 
protect — and see her, as in a relative instance, raising 
her white arms as a shield, as her own blood crimsons 
her upturned forehead, praying for life to protect the 
helpless. Transplant her in the dark places of earth — 
'awaken her energies to action, and her breath becomes 
a healing— her presence a blessing. She disputes, inch 
by inch, the stride of the stalking pestilence, when man, 
the strong and brave, shrinks away, pale and affright en- 
ed. Misfortune daunts her not; she wears away a life 
of silent endurance, and goes forward with less timidity 
than to her bridal. In prosperity she is a bud full of 
odors, waiting but for the winds of adversity to scatter 
them abroad — pure gold, valuable, but united in the 
furnace. In short — woman is a miracle — a mystery, the 
center from which radiates the great charm of existence. 
Under the most depressing circumstances woman's weak- 
ness becomes fearless courage, all her shrinking and 
sinking passes away, and her spirit acquires the firmness 
of marble — adamantine firmness, when circumstances 
drive her to put forth all her energies under the inspira- 
tion of her affections. 

When, in despair, man's scarce uplifted eye 
Sees foes who linger, fancied friends who fly, 
Woman steps forth and boldly braves the shock, 
Firm to his interests as the granite rock ; 
She stems the wave, unshrinking meets the storm, 
And wears his guardian angel's earthly form ! 
And if she cannot check the tempest's course, 
She points a shelter from its whelming force ! 
When envy's sneer would coldly blight his name, 
And busy tongues are sporting with his fame, 
Who solves each doubt, clears every mist away, 
And makes him radiant in the face of day ? 
She who would peril fortune, fame and life, 
For man, the ingrate — the devoted wife. 



42 MAN AND WOMAN. 

Much of the gold-dust of humanity lies beneath our 
feet, unseen by the multitude, in unwritten biography. 
Particularly is this true of the female sex. Besides the 
mother of Washington, there have been Mary's, whose 
characters have been equally as beautiful as hers ; and 
yet they are wholly unknown to fame. They had neither 
son nor husband possessed of a sufficiency of the ele- 
ments of greatness to make themselves famous ; conse- 
quently these good mothers lived, wrought, died ; and 
were unheard of. Yet they lived not in vain ; if merit- 
ing the title of "excellent," in the spiritual sense, their 
work was approved by their Divine Master ; their influ- 
ence was felt powerfully in a limited circle ; and while 
they have gone to their reward, the impress of their 
character is left behind, to be felt by generations to come. 
Women in their course of action, describe a smaller cir- 
cle than men ; but the perfection of a circle consists not 
in its dimensions, but in its correctness. There may be 
here and there a soaring female who looks down with 
disdain on the paltry affairs of "this dim speck called 
earth ;" who despises order and regularity as indications 
of a groveling spirit ; but a sound mind judges directly 
contrary. The larger the capacity, the wider is the space 
of duties it takes in. Proportion and propriety are 
among the best secrets of domestic wisdom; and 
there is no surer test of integrity and judgment than a 
well proportioned expenditure. 

Many families have owed their prosperity full as much 
to the propriety of female management as to the know- 
ledge and activity of the father. The managing woman 
is a pearl among women ; she is one of the prizes in the 
great lottery of life, and the man who draws her may 
rejoice for the rest of his days. Better than riches, she 
is a fortune in herself — a gold mine never failing in its 
yield — a spring of pleasant water, whose banks are 
fringed with moss and flowers when all around is bleached 
white with sterile sand. The managing woman can 
do anything, and she does everything well. Perceptive 
and executive, of quick sight and steady hand, she al- 
ways knows exactly what is wanting, and supplies the 



MAN AND WOMAN. 43 

deficiency with a tact and cleverness peculiar to herself. 
She knows the capabilities of persons as well as things, 
for she has an intuitive knowledge of character. The 
managing woman, if not always patient, is always ener- 
getic, and can never be disappointed into inaction. 
Though she has to teach the same thing over and over 
again, she is never weary of her vocation of arranging 
and ordering, and never less than hopeful of favorable 
results. The woman, poor, ill clad as she may be, who 
balances her income and expenditures — toils and sweats 
in quiet, unrepining mood among her children, and pre- 
sents them morning and evening, as offerings of love in 
rosy health and cheerful purity — is the proudest dame, 
and the bliss of a happy home shall dwell with her for- 
ever. If one prospect be dearer than another to bend 
the proud and inspire the broken-hearted — it is for a 
smiling wife to meet her husband at the door with his 
host of happy children. How it stirs up the tired blood 
of an exhausted man when he hears the rush of children 
upon the staircase — when the crow and carol of their 
young voices mix in glad confusion, and the smallest 
mounts and sinks into his arms amidst right mirthful 
shouts ! 

Rev. Thomas K. Beecher says: "That the woman who 
is able to systematize and carry on smoothly the work of 
an ordinary family, illustrates higher sagacity than is 
called for by seven-tenths of the tasks done by men. 
Men take one trade ; and work at it; a mother's and 
house-keeper's work requires a touch from all trades. A 
man has his work hours, and his definite tasks ; a woman 
has work at all hours, and an incessant confusion of tasks. 
Let any man do a woman's work for a single day — wash 
and dress the children, having provided their clothes the 
night before ; see that breakfast is under way to suit a 
fault-finding husband; the wash-boiler on with water for 
the wash, and the clothes assorted ready for the washing ; 
the dish-water heating, and the luncheon brought out 
ready for the school children; a nice dinner in the 
father's dinner pail ; the beds made after proper airing ; 
the father's convenience exactly hit for family prayers, 



44 MAN AND WOMAN. 

the systematic sweeping of the house at least once a 
week, and of lower rooms once to three times a day, ac- 
cording to the number of men to bring in the mud ; the 
actual washing and out-hanging of the clothes ; the dry- 
ing, sprinkling, and to-morrow the ironing, the same 
sorting and mending of them, and the provision of new 
ere the old give out ; the making of bread three times a 
week, with cake and pies intercalated judiciously ; pick- 
les, preserves, and cellar stores to be laid in, and not to 
be forgotten in their season ; children's manners attended 
to ; company to be entertained ; her own person to be 
tidied up to please her husband's eye ; the tired man to 
be welcomed and waited on by the no less tired wife, 
and the home made cheerful ; his trousers to be patched 
after he goes to bed, so that he can put them on in the 
morning ; the children to be helped about their lessons ; 
and reminded not to forget their Sunday school lessons ; 
the shopping and marketing to be done for the house- 
hold ; house repairs to be attended to, and matters in 
general to be kept straight around home. Meanwhile, 
papa must not be hindered about his work, because his 
work brings the money. Yes, man's work brings . the 
money, but does not so tax the head, and heart, and hand, 
as woman's work does." 

An over-worked woman is always a sad sight — sadder 
a great deal than an over-worked man, because she is 
so much more fertile in her capacities of suffering than a 
man. She has so many varieties of headache — sometimes 
as if Jael were driving the nail that killed Sisera, into 
her temples — sometimes letting her work with half her 
brain, while the other half throbs as if it would go to 
pieces — sometimes tightening round the brows as if her 
cap band were Luke's iron crown — and then her neural- 
gia's, and her back-aches, and her fits of depression, in 
which she thinks she is nothing, and less than nothing, 
and those paroxysms which men speak lightly of as hys- 
terical — convulsions, that is all, only not commonly fatal 
ones — so many trials which belong to her fine and 
mobile structure, that she is always entitled to pity when 
she is placed in conditions which develop her nervous 
tendencies. 



MAN AND WOMAN. 45 

Every wife knows her husband's income, or ought to 
know it That knowledge should be the guide of her 
conduct. A clear understanding respecting domestic 
expenses is necessary to the peace of every dwelling. If 
it be little, "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, 
than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." If it be am- 
ple, let it be enjoyed with all thankfulness. We believe 
that partners in privation are more to each other than 
partners in wealth. Those who have suffered together 
love more than those who have rejoiced together. Love 
is "the drop of honey in the draught of gall." When 
the wife, seeing her duty, has made up her mind to this, 
she will brighten her little home with smiles that will 
make it a region of perpetual sunshine. She will never 
even imply a wish for things which are the appendages 
of wealth. She knows they could be purchased at a 
cost from which she turns shudderingly. Following with 
the acuteness of a quickened affection every turn of her 
husband's thoughts, if she should see that he "leans to- 
wards the world's good things, that he gives orders to 
his wine merchant beyond the bounds of their enforced 
temperate indulgences, that luxuries are sent home to 
her, then let her bestir herself for his safety and her 
own, for they are indissolubly united. If he bring her 
costly boxes of sweetmeats, half-a-dozen packages of 
French gloves, or even half-dollar bouquets, then let her 
remember that these things are the beginning of evil. 
Let her take her woman's power into her own hands, 
and by all the gentle arts of love and the powerful ar- 
guments of truth, let her win him back to contentment 
with the lot that Heaven has bestowed, and so forcing 
him to acknowledge that its best blessing is his wife. 

A saving woman at the head of a family is the very 
best savings bank yet established — one that receives de- 
posits daily and hourly, with no costly machinery to 
manage it. The idea of saving is a pleasant one ; and 
if u the women" would imbibe it at once, they would 
cultivate and adhere to it, and thus, when they were not 
aware of it, would be laying the foundation of a compe- 
tent security in a stormy time, and, shelter in a rainy 



46 MAN AND WOMAN. 

day. The woman who sees to her own house has a large 
field to. save in. The best way to make her comprehend 
it, is for her to keep an account of current expenses. 
Probably not one wife in ten has any idea how much are 
the expenditures of herself and family. Where from 
five hundred to a thousand dollars are expended annu- 
ally, there is a chance to save something, if the attempt 
is only made. Let the house-wife take the idea, act 
upon it, strive over it, and she will save many dollars — 
perhaps hundreds — where before she thought it impos- 
sible. This is a duty — not a prompting of avarice — a 
moral obligation that rests upon " the woman," as well 
as the man. 

The saving woman is generally a woman of good 
taste. You see this lady turning a cold eye to the as- 
surance of shopmen and the recommendations of milli- 
ners. She cares not how original a pattern may be, if it 
be ugly, or how recent a shape if it be awkward. What- 
ever laws fashion dictates, she follows a law of her own, 
and is never behind it. She wears very beautiful things, 
which people generally suppose to be brought from Paris, 
or at least made by a French milliner, but which are 
often bought at the nearest town, and made by her own 
help. Not that the costume is either rich or new ; on the 
contrary, she wears many a cheap dress, but it is always 
pretty, and many an old one, but it is always good. She 
deals in no gaudy confusion of colors, nor does she affect 
a studied sobriety ; but she either refreshes you with a 
spirited contrast, or composes you with a judicious har- 
mony. Not a scrap of tinsel or trumpery appears about 
her. She puts no faith in velvet bands or gilt buttons, 
or twisted cording. She is quite aware, however, that 
the garnish is as important as the dress ; all her inner 
borders and beadings are delicate and fresh ; and should 
anything peep out which is not intended to be seen, it is 
quite as much so as that which is. After all there is no 
great art either in her fashions or her materials. The 
secret simply consists in her knowing the three grand 
unities of dress — her own age and her own points. And 
no woman can dress well who does net. After this we 



MAN AND WOMAN. 47 

need not say that whoever is attracted by the costume 
will not be disappointed in the wearer. She may not be 
handsome nor accomplished, but we will answer for her 
being even-tempered, well informed, thoroughly sensible, 
and a complete lady. 

Has Woman a profession? Certainly she has; audits 
duties in dignity and importance yield to those of none 
of the professions of man. The training of the human 
mind in childhood and youth — the care of the human 
body in infancy and sickness — and the conservation of 
the family state — these are the distinctive duties of Wo- 
man's profession. 

Wherever a woman goes, says Gov. Briggs, you may 
look for something good ; to wdiatever they give their 
countenance and support, you may depend upon it that 
success is to be looked for. Whenever they give their 
support to institutions, by coming out and listening to 
lectures, by giving their aid, their support, their exam- 
ple and their presence, it argues favorably for the cause. 
Now let me tell you, my female friends, that you have a 
greater part to perform, in the business of educating 
children, than any body else. I remember twelve or 
fifteen years ago, while at home, I, for the first time, 
possessed myself of the letters of Mr. Adams' mother, 
and read them with exceeding interest. I remember an 
expression in one of the letters addressed to her son, 
while yet a boy of twelve years old, in Europe ; says 
she — "I would rather see you laid in your grave, than 
that you should grow a profane and graceless boy." On 
my return to Washington I went over to Mr. Adams' 
seat one day, and said I — " Mr. Adams, I found out who 
made you !" "What do you mean ?" said he. I replied, 
"I have been reading the letters of your mother !" If I 
had named that dear name to some little boy, who had 
been for weeks away from his dear mother, his eye could 
not have flashed more brightly, or his face glow^ed quicker, 
than did the eye and face of that venerable old man 
when I pronounced the name of his mother. He started 
up, in his peculiar manner, and emphatically said — u Yes! 
Mr. Briggs, all that is good in me, I owe to my mother." 



48 MAN AND WOMAN. 

Oh what a testimony was that, from this venerable old 
man, to his mother, who had in his remembrance all the 
scenes of his manhood ! " All that is good in me I owe 
to my mother!" Mothers! think of this when your 
bright eyed little boys are about you ! Mothers make 
the first impression upon the minds of their children, 
and those impressions will be the last to be effaced. 

The influence which the wife of Gen. Jackson had over 
her husband is said to have been very extraordinary. 
She was of obscure origin, and totally uneducated ; yet 
she inherited from nature those fine and noble traits of 
her sex to such perfection that her power was very great. 
Gen. Jackson was attached to her in early life, but by 
some means or other the matter was interrupted, and she 
married another, who proved a villain, and the connec- 
tion was a most unhappy one. General Jackson became 
interested in her, and the consequence was a divorce — 
after which he married her. She is said to have possessed 
none of those accomplishments which are supposed to 
adorn fashionable life ; reared in the backwoods, seeing 
and knowing but little of refined society. Yet her fine 
person, strong affections, and good sense, the three essen- 
tials of a woman, enabled her to take hold with irresisti- 
ble force of the bold, strong, and fiery warrior and 
statesman to whom she was wedded. It was the lion 
held in the embrace of the fawn. The influence she ex- 
ercised is said to have bordered on the superstitious. He 
imagined that no power or act of his could succeed, or 
be carried out, averse to her will, or in opposition to her 
feelings. She seemed his guardian angel by day and by 
night ; holding in her hands his life, his fate, his all. An 
intimate friend of his says, that so long as he lived, he 
wore her miniature near his heart, and never alluded to 
her except in a manner so subdued and full of reverence, 
that the listener was deeply impressed with her transcen- 
dent worth. 

Dr. Boardman, in his admirable work, "Hints on Do- 
mestic happiness," inculcates this doctrine, which w^e 
cordially endorse: In a conversation I once held with an 
eminent minister of our church ; he made this fine obser- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 49 

vation: " We will say nothing of the manner in which 
that sex usually conduct an argument ; but the intuitive 
judgments of ivomen are often more to be relied upon 
than the conclusions which we reach by an elaborate 
process of reasoning.". No man that has an intelligent 
wife, or who is accustomed to the society of educated 
women, will dispute this. Times without number you 
must have known them decide questions on the instant, 
and with unerring accuracy, which you had been poring 
over for hours, perhaps, with no other result than to find 
yourself getting deeper and deeper into the tangled maze 
of doubts and difficulties. It were hardly generous to 
allege that they achieve these feats less by reasoning 
than by a sort of sagacity which approximates to the 
sure instinct of the animal races ; and yet there seems to 
be some ground for the remark of a witty French writer, 
that, when a man has toiled step by step up a flight of 
stairs he will be sure to find a woman at the top ; but 
she will not be able to tell lioiv she got there. How she 
got there, however, is of little moment. If the conclu- 
sions a woman has reached are sound, that is all that con- 
cerns us. And they are very apt to be sound on the 
practical matters of domestic and secular life, nothing 
but prejudice or self-conceit can prevent us from acknow- 
ledging. The inference, therefore, is unavoidable, that 
the man who thinks it beneath his dignity to take counsel 
with an intelligent wife, stands in his own light, and be- 
trays that lack of judgment which he tacitly attributes 
to her. 

When a woman is possessed of a high degree of tact, 
she sees, as by a kind of second sight, when any little 
emergency is like to occur, or when, to use a more fa- 
miliar expression, things do not seem to go right. She 
is thus aware of any sudden turn in conversation, and 
prepared for what it may lead to ; but above all, she can 
penetrate into the state of mind of those she is placed in 
contact with, so as to detect the gathering gloom upon 
another's brow, before the mental storm shall have reached 
any formidable height ; to know when the tone of voice 
has altered ; when any unwelcome thought shall have 



50 MAN AND WOMAN. 

presented itself, and when the pulse of feeling is beating 
higher or lower, in consequence of some apparently tri- 
fling circumstance which has just transpired. In these 
and innumerable other instances of a similar nature, the 
woman of tact not only perceives the variations which 
are constantly taking place in the atmosphere of social 
life, but she adapts herself to them with a facility which 
the law of love enables her to carry out, so as to spare 
her friends the pain and annoyance which so frequently 
arise out of the mere mismanagement of familiar and 
apparently unimportant affairs. And how often do these 
seeming trifles — these accidental betrayals of what there 
would have been no duplicity in concealing — how often 
do these wound us more than direct unkindness. 

A lady will look a servant who comes to be hired in 
the face, and say, he is not honest. She cannot tell you 
why she thinks so, she says she does not like his expres- 
sion ; she feels he is not honest — no consideration would 
induce her to take him into her service. He has the best 
of character, and you engage him ; he robs you — you 
may be quite sure he will do that. Years after, another 
man comes ; the same lady looks him in the face, and 
says he, too, is not honest ; she says so, again, fresh from 
her mere insight ; but you, also, say he is not honest. 
You say, I remember I had a servant with just the same 
look about him, three years ago, and he robbed me. 
This is one great distinction of the female intellect ; it 
walks directly and unconsciously, by more delicate in- 
sight and a more refined and a more trusted intuition, 
to an end to which men's minds grope carefully and 
ploddingly along. Women have exercised a most bene- 
ficial influence in softening the hard and untruthful out- 
line which knowledge is apt to assume in the hands of 
direct scientific observers and experimenters ; they have 
prevented the casting aside of a mass of most valuable 
truth, which is too fine to be caught in the material sieve, 
and eludes the closest questioning of the microscope 
and the test-glass ; which is allied with our passions, our 
feelings ; and especially holds the fine boundary-line 
where mind and matter, sense and spirit, wave their 



MAN AND WOMAN. 51 

floating and undistinguishable boundaries, and exercise 
their complex action and reaction. 

It is more honorable to have the regard of a few noble 
women, than to be popular among a greater number of 
men. Having in themselves the qualities that command 
our love, they are, for that reason, the better able to ap- 
preciate the traits that deserve to inspire. The heart 
must be judged by the heart, and men are too intellectual 
in the process by which they form their regards. Some 
ladies will forgive silliness ; but none ill manners. And 
there are but few capable of judging of your learning 
or genius ; but all of your behavior. 

Though men boast of holding the reins, the woman 
generally tell them which way they must drive. Sher- 
idan beautifully said: — " Women govern us, let us render 
them perfect ; the more they are enlightened, so much 
the more shall we be. On the cultivation of the mind 
of women depends the wisdom of men." "Woman," 
says a western orator, "wields the Archimedean lever, 
whose fulcrum is childhood, whose weight is the world, 
whose length is all time, and whose sweep is eternity." 
" There is nothing," says Sir Samuel Romilly, " by which 
I have thought life more profited, than by the just ob- 
servations, the good opinion, and the sincere and gentle 
encouragement of amiable and sensible women. " It has 
been very justly said, that without female society the 
beginning of our lives would be helpless, the meridian 
without refinement, and the close without comfort. The 
strongest man feels the influence of woman's gentlest 
thoughts, as the mightiest oak quivers in the softest 
breeze. We confess to a great distrust of that man who 
persistently underrates woman. Never did language 
better apply to an adjective than when she called the 
wife the " better-half." We admire the ladies because 
of their beauty, respect them because of their virtues, 
adore them because of their intelligence, and love them 
because we canH help it. 

I have always thanked God, says an old philosopher, 
that I was not born a woman, deeming her the bestower 
rather than the enjoyer of happiness — the flower-crowned 



52 MAN AND WOMAN. 

sacrifice offered up to the human lord of creation. Heaven 
knows how many simple-minded women, have been 
kissed, cherished, and wept over by men of far loftier 
intellect. So it will always be to the end of time. It 
is a lesson worth learning by those young creatures who 
seek to allure by their accomplishments, or to dazzle by 
their genius, that though he may admire, no man ever 
loves a woman for these things. He loves her for what 
is essentially distinct from, though not incompatible with 
them — her woman's nature, and her heart. This is why 
^Ye so often see a man of high genius and intellectual 
power pass by the De Staels and the Corinnes, to take 
unto his bosom some wayside flower, who has nothing 
on earth to make her worthy of him ; except that she is 
— what so few of your "female celebrities" are — a 
true woman. 

Some one writes: "We like homely women. We have 
always liked them. We do not carry the peculiarity far 
enough to include the hideous or positively ugly ; for 
since beauty and money are the only capital the world 
will recognize in women, they are more to be pitied than 
admired ; but we have a chivalric, enthusiastic regard for 
plain women ! We never saw one who was not modest, 
and unassuming, and sweet tempered, and seldom came 
across one who was not virtuous, and had not a good 
heart. Made aware early in life of their want of beauty 
by the slighted attentions of the opposite sex, vanity and 
affectation never take root in their hearts. See them in 
the street, at home, or in the church, and they are always 
the same ; and the smile which ever lives upon the face 
is not forced there to fascinate, but as the spontaneous 
sunshine reflected from a kind heart — a flower which 
takes root in the soul and blooms upon the lips, inspiring 
respect instead of passion. Plain women make good 
wives, good mothers, cheerful homes and happy husbands, 
and we never see one but we thank heaven that it has 
kindly created women of sense, as well as beauty, for it 
is seldom a female is found possessing both." 

Another writer says : " There are two classes of good 
women — the Marthas and the Marys. The former rep- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 53 

resent the active, and the latter the passive voice of the 
feminine conjugation. Without by any means contro- 
verting the Scriptural idea, we borrow the names there 
used to illustrate facts in modern social life. Both Mar- 
thas and Marys are affectionate, but the love of Mary is 
a sentimental dream, and evaporates in verbal homage 
and empty caresses. Mary will tie a bouquet for you, or 
possibly knit a purse, if she had abundant leisure. She 
will join you in a quiet stroll, especially when the calls 
of duty are urgent in the house, but even then she pre- 
fers a drive. She absorbs attentions without rendering 
many; she makes a luxury of friendship, and either 
wears it like a jewel or drinks it like a julep. She 
sweetly assures you that "you are worth so much to her. 1 ' 
Meantime, except that she charm your fancy, she is worth 
very little to you. With Martha it is otherwise. Her 
love is untiring and practicable. She gives where Mary 
receives. She prepares the entertainment which Mary 
enjoys. She smooths your pillow, while Mary is kissing 
you good night, and repairs your wardrobe in an ante- 
room while you are lost in slumber, she meanwhile 
breathing a prayer for your welfare, of which you do 
not dream. She takes care of the children while you 
go with Mary to the excursion ; she packs the refresh- 
ments for the pic-nic, while Mary helps you to arrange 
the flowers. She takes cheerfully the roughest duties, 
because her dress is of a firm material, that will neither 
tear nor soil ; while Mary requires your aid to enable her 
to protect from injury her gossamer berage. If there is 
any repulsive task that niust be done in solitude, that 
admits of no assistance, and elicits no praise, give your- 
self no uneasiness — Martha will attend to it. She has a 
positive genius for that kind of thing. Indeed, Martha 
is a very convenient person to have in the house. It is 
pleasant to think that she will do whatever she can for 
you, and that she does it because she loves you. You 
sometimes drop her a kind word when you think of it, 
just to see her face light up in consequence. At such 
times she is almost pretty. You regret that she looks 
ordinarily so thin and anxious. You hear her cough of 



51 MAN AND WOMAN. 

a morning, and excuse an occasional neglect of some or 
many of your stated comforts. You are surprised and 
shocked when she dies some day. You blend your tears 
with Mary's, (Mary is beautiful in tears,) and you feel 
that sympathy is sweet. You plant a rose — not a thorn- 
less rose — above Martha's grave, and after a proper in- 
terval of sorrow — marry Mary. 

The following are given as natural characteristics of 
women : The English woman is respectful and proud ; 
the French woman is gay and agreeable ; the Italian is 
ardent and passionate ; the American is sincere and af- 
fectionate. With an English woman love is a principle ; 
with a French woman it is a caprice ; with an Italian it 
is a passion ; with an American it is a sentiment. A man 
is married to an English lady ; united to a French wo- 
man ; cohabits with an Italian ; and is wedded to an 
American. An English woman is anxious to secure a 
lord ; a French woman, a companion ; an Italian, a lover ; 
an American, a husband. The Englishman respects his 
lady ; the Frenchman esteems his companion ; the Italian 
adores his mistress ; the American loves his wife. At 
night the Englishman returns to his house ; the French- 
man to his establishment ; the Italian to his retreat ; the 
American to his home. When an Englishman is sick, his 
lady visits him ; when a Frenchman is sick, his com- 
panion pities him ; when an Italian is sick, his mistress 
sighs over him ; when an American is sick, his wife nur- 
ses him. When an Englishman dies, his lady is bereaved ; 
when a Frenchman dies, his companion grieves ; when 
an Italian dies, his mistress laments ; when an American 
dies, his w T ife mourns. An English woman instructs her 
offspring ; a French woman teaches her progeny ; an 
Italian rears her young ; an American educates her child. 

An old Spanish writer says that a woman is quite per- 
fect and absolute in beauty if she have thirty good points. 
Here they are : Three things white — the skin, the teeth, 
the hands ; three black — the eyes, eyebrows and eye- 
lashes; three red — the lips, the cheeks, the nails; three 
long — the body, the hair, the hands; three short — the 
teeth, the ears, the feet ; three broad — the chest, the 



MAX AND WOMAN. 55 

brow, the space between the eyebrows; three narrow — 
the mouth, the waist, the instep ; three large — the arm, 
the hip, the calf; three free — the fingers, the hair, the 
lips ; three small — the breast, the nose, the head. Thirty 
in all. A Chinese maxim says: We require four things 
for woman — that virtue dwell in her heart, that modesty 
play on her brow, that sweetness flow from her lips, and 
industry occupy her hands. 

Those women who are most loved by their own sex, 
are precisely such as are most thought of by the other. 
The railing of a cross woman, like the railing of a gar- 
den, keeps people at a distance. A woman fascinates us 
quite as often by what she overlooks as by what she 
sees. If women knew their power and wished to exert 
it, they would always show sweetness of temper, for then 
they are irresistable. All women past seventy are divi- 
ded into three classes — first, " that dear old soul," second, 
" that old woman," third, " that old witch." Women can 
easily preserve their youth ; for she who captivates the 
heart and understanding never grows old. The lady 
looks oldest who tries to conceal her age. If she refuses 
to let her age be upon her tongue, it will be all the more 
in her face. A lovely face is the more admired if good- 
ness shines through it, just as the glorious sky is the 
oftener gazed at because Heaven is there. A woman is 
a great deal like a piece of ivy — the more you are ruined, 
the closer she clings to you. Unraveling the cord of 
man's existence, you will generally find the blackest hank 
twined in it by a woman's hand ; but it is not less com- 
mon to trace the golden thread to the same spindle. 
The ladies should consider that to kiss the lips of a 
swearer is a kind of profanity. Don't kiss a painted wo- 
man ; she is like painted fruit — only to be looked at, 
not tasted. We read in a Sheffield paper, that " the last 
polish to a piece of cutlery is given by the hand of woman." 
Apropos to this, it may be said of human cutlery, that, 
" the last polish to a young blade is given by his mixing 
with female society." A beautiful girl — beautiful in 
youth, health and purity — who wakes from sleep at touch 
of morning light, as the flowers do, with a cheerful grace ; 



56 MAN AND WOMAN. 

whose first tones, like those of the birds, are the most 
musical of the day ; from whose brow every trace of 
yesterday's wear and last night's care is swept away, 
even as the face of nature is renewed and brightened by 
the summer "dew — such a girl is worth the winning. 

There is a period to the early life of every true woman 
when moral and intellectual growth seems for a time to 
cease — the vacant heart seeks for an occupant. The in- 
tellect having to appropriate such aliment as was requi- 
site to the growth of the uncrowned feminine nature, 
feels the necessity of more intimate companionship with 
the masculine mind to start it upon its second period of 
development. Here, at this point, some stand for years 
without ever making a step in advance. Others marry 
and astonish, in a few brief years, by their sweet temper, 
their new beauty, their high accomplishments, and their 
noble womanhood, those whose blindness led them to 
suppose that they were among the incurably heartless 
and frivolous. 

Cultivated women are as much an ornament and honor 
to a city or State as cultivated men. France has as much 
distinction from Madame de Stael as from the most bril- 
liant of its philosophers. Fanny Burney, (Madme. 
D'Arblay,) Mrs. Macauley, Agnes Strickland, and nu- 
merous other females, shed the highest lustre on England. 
The Irish boast of Miss Edgeworth, of the Porters, of 
Lady Morgan, and of Lady Blessington, with spirit indic- 
ative of the highest appreciation. Scotland, too, has 
gained in honor through the education of more than one 
of its "bonnie, bright-eyed lasses." Every country in 
Europe has been benefited by talented women. So has 
our own beloved America. 

Says the traveler, Ledyard : " I have observed among 
all nations that the women ornament themselves more 
than the men ; that wherever found, they are the same 
kind, civil, obliging, humane, tender beings ; that they 
are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and 
modest. They do not hesitate, like a man, to perform 
any hospitable or generous action ; not haughty or ar- 
rogant, or supercilious, but full of courtesy, and fond of 



MAN AND WOMAN. 57 

society, industrious, economical, ingenious, more liable, 
in general to err than man, but in general also, more vir- 
tuous, and performing more good actions than he." 

The gentle tendrils of woman's heart sometimes twine 
around a proud and sinful spirit like roses and honey- 
suckles around a lightning-rod, clinging for support to 
what brings down upon them the blasting thunderbolt. 
It is said that a man frequently admits he was wrong, but 
a woman, never — she was "only mistaken." 

It is always easy to tell a true lady whenever or where 
ever you meet her. Ten women shall get into an omni- 
bus, and, though we never saw them before, we shall 
select you the true lady. She does not titter when a 
gentleman, handing up her fare, knocks off his hat, or 
pitches it awry over his nose ; nor does she receive her 
"change," after this (to him) inconvenient act of gallan- 
try, in grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade to 
be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewelry, nor rose- 
tinted gloves ; but the lace frill round her face is scrupu- 
lously fresh, and the strings under her chin have evidently 
been handled only by dainty fingers. She makes no 
parade of a watch, if she wears one ; nor does she draw 
off her dark neatly fitting glove to display ostentatious 
rings. Still we notice, nestling in the straw beneath us, 
such a trim little boot, not paper soled, but of an anti- 
consumption thickness ; the bonnet upon her head is of 
plain straw, simply trimmed, for your true lady never 
wears a " dress hat " in an omnibus. She is quite as civil 
to the poorest as to the richest person who sits beside her, 
and equally regardful of their rights. If she attracts 
attention, it is by the unconscious grace of her person 
and manner, not by the ostentation of her dress. We 
are quite sorry when she pulls the strap and disappears; 
if w^e were a bachelor we should go home to our solitary 
den, with a resolution to become a better and a — married 
man. 

The aim of a real lady is always to be natural and un- 
affected, and to wear her talents, her accomplishments, 
and her learning, as well as the newest and finest dresses, 
as if she did not know that she had them about her. No 



58 MAN AND WOMAN. 

woman with a lady-like mind ever attempts to make what 
is called a " splurge." Not that a desire for celebrity is 
incompatible with the character of a gentlewoman ; but 
a gentlewoman never confounds celebrity with notoriety j 
never deems it necessary to be rude and mannish in order 
to gain a reputation for eccentricity. If gifted with 
genius, she is content to shine without endeavoring to 
coruscate. The term lady is often grossly misapplied. 
It does not of necessity belong to position. It should 
apply to the intellectual, the highly educated, the highly 
placed among the sex, but there are some individuals of 
this favored few for whom it would be a misnomer. We 
meet with such persons occasionally in society, and read 
of their " smart " sayings and unlady-like doings in the 
newspapers. On the other hand, ladies are to be found 
in log cabins, and in regions where there are no " finish- 
ing academies;" for what sapient Dogberry said of read- 
ing and writing, is true of genuine courtesy and polite- 
ness. They "come by nature." A woman of gentle 
and kindly disposition is intuitively well mannered. She 
may be ignorant of the forms prescribed by etiquette, 
but her heart is her "master of the ceremonies," and 
therefore she is never bitter for the sake of being bril- 
liant, nor harsh and abrupt when she should be consider- 
ate and dignified. Giddy girls — ay, and some of the 
sex who are old enough to know better — sometimes take 
a miserable pride in defying public opinion. They think 
it indicates a spirit of independence and self-reliance. 
Boisterousness is a quality which does not " highly become 
a woman," and yet we are sorry to say that it is occasion- 
ally indulged in to a very disagreeable extent by ladies 
moving in good society. As this allegation might be 
deemed a slander on the sex unless supported by proof, 
we w r ill cite an example. A short time before Piccolom- 
ini left New York we attended one of the matinees at 
the Academy of Music. The majority of the audience 
consisted of ladies; but had they been dressed in cassi- 
mere and broadcloth we might have mistaken a good 
many of them for rowdies. They shouted, screamed, 
and hustled each other. Gentlemen are rarely so ungen- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 59 

tlemanly, as some of the adorable gender were on that 
occasion. Finally, a person connected with the opera 
came forward and announced to the ladies who were 
making the disturbance, that unless they desisted, he 
must call in the police ! This threat in a measure stilled 
the tumult, but a few disorderlies in crinoline chose to 
consider the rebuke an insult, and continued to talk in a 
high tone throughout the performance, to the great an- 
noyance of the quiet portion of the assemblage. The 
sensationists of the sex may possibly think us ungallant 
in thus referring to their peculiarities ; but if we could 
only succeed in making them "see themselves as others 
see them " they would join their gentler sisters in thank- 
ing us for holding the mirror up, not to nature, but to 
an affectation of eccentricity. , 

If a well-bred woman is surprised in careless costume, 
she does not try to dodge behind the door to conceal 
deficiencies. She remains calm and self-possessed, and 
makes up in dignity what she may want in decoration. 
In conversation, the words of a true lady are rather fit 
than fine, very choice and yet not chosen. Though her 
language be not gaudy, yet the plainness thereof pleaseth ; 
it is so proper and handsomely put on. Some having a 
set of fine phrases, will hazard an impertinency to use 
them all, as thinking they give full satisfaction for drag- 
ging in the matter by head and shoulders, if they dress 
it in quaint expressions. Others often repeat the same 
things ; the Platonic year of their discourses being not 
above three days long, in which term all the same mat- 
ter returns over again, thread-bare talk, ill suiting with 
the variety of their clothes. There is one part of woman's 
education often forgotten or neglected — the culture and 
formation of a gentle voice. It is a great gift of nature, 
to be aided by culture — an instrument of powerful influ- 
ence for good. I speak not of singing hymns, now, and 
the culture of harmony for musical purposes — though 
these tend to Grod's praise, or to give innocent amuse- 
ment ; but this gentle voice will be able to guide and 
persuade to good the manly heart of a faithful husband, 
will mitigate sorrow, lessen trial, and speak of hope and 



60 MAN AND WOMAN. 

joy to her dearest friends and connections, m accents at 
once powerful and pleasing. Let us then be careful in 
our schools to cultivate this most valuable acquirement. 
How different in all respects, to a family, for friends and 
neighbors, are the kind, gentle, persuasive accents I have 
described, from sounds we sometimes (alas too often) 
hear in the close abodes of poverty and trial — high, harsh, 
female treble tones of bitter import — scolding and re- 
proaching, and driving away from the hearth and home 
(perhaps to sorrow and sin) the husband and the child- 
ren. Yes, we agree with that old poet who said that a 
low soft voice was an excellent thing in woman. Indeed, 
we feel inclined to go much further than he has on the 
subject, and call it one of her crowning charms. How 
often the spell ^of beauty is rudely broken by coarse, loud 
talking ! How often you are irresistibly drawn to a plain, 
unassuming woman, whose soft, silvery tones render her 
positively attractive. In the social circle, how pleasant 
it is to hear a woman talk in that low key which always 
characterizes the true lady. In the sanctuary of home, 
how such a voice soothes the dutiful child, and cheers 
the weary husband ! 

It w^as a graceful turn of speech in the gentleman who, 
when remarking that u woman should keep her proper 
sphere," was asked sharply by a lady — " what is her 
proper sphere?" "Madam:" replied the gentleman — 
it is a celestial sphere!" This, though, at first sight, a 
mere compliment, is replete with truth. The sphere of 
a true woman is indeed a celestial sphere, and she is an 
angel if she properly adorns it. It is the peculiar province 
of woman to inspire love ; and this love, to be lasting, 
must build itself on esteem. Surely, if there be a hea- 
ven, u as is our trust," it must be a sphere in which pure 
love is the atmosphere; and if there be an object more 
pleasant than another, or more fitted to inspire the purest 
energies of woman, it must be the attainment of that 
blessed station in which she shall be an angelic ministrant 
in this, her native and peculiar sphere. The standard of 
woman's excellence — her value in the social scale — is in 
all civilized communities, fixed by herself. True, in re- 



MAN AND WOMAN. 61 

mote ages, or among savage or barbaric nations, the 
female has been degraded, and forced to occupy a posi- 
tion more or less subservient ; but it is equally true that 
examples of woman's higher attributes gleam brightly 
even through these clouded periods of her destiny. 
Semiramis, Zenubius, Cleopatra, Judith, Jael, Jezebel, 
and the lovelier characters of Ruth and Abigail, present 
themselves the more vividly because they are isolated 
proofs of the power of woman to individualize herself, 
even in the immensity of history. "By what charm 
canst thou control thy husband thus ?" was asked of the 
spouse of Scipio, if we remember rightly. "I rule by 
obeying!" replied Cornelia. And it was this noble Ro- 
man matron who, impatient of being known as the u wife 
of Scipio," exclaimed to her sons — "when shall I be 
called the mother of the Grachii?" Posterity answered 
that question, and posterity shows likewise, the name of 
a Mary the mother of Washington. Say not, then, that 
woman hath not her reward. Let her be true to her 
sphere, exalting by her influence the sons and husbands 
and fathers of the nation, and to the latest epoch of time, 
" her children will rise up and call her blessed." 

Says that admirably pure writer, T. S. Arthur: " For 
myself, I am sure that a different mother would have 
made me a different man. When a boy I was too much 
like the self-willed, excitable C — ; but the tenderness 
with which my mother always treated me, and the unim- 
passioned but earnest manner in which she reproved and 
corrected my faults, subdued my unruly temper. When 
I became restless or impatient, she always had a book to read 
to me, or a story to tell, or had some device to save me from 
myself. My father was neither harsh nor indulgent to- 
wards me; I cherish his memory with respect and love. 
But I have different feelings when I think of my mother, 
I often feel, even now, as if she were near me — as if her 
cheek were laid to mine. My father would place his 
hand upon my head, caressingly, but my mother would 
lay her cheek against mine. I did not expect my father 
to do more ; for him it was a natural expression of affec- 
tion. Her kiss upon my cheek, her warm embrace, are 



62 MAN AND WOMAN. 

all felt now, and the older I grow, the more holy seem 
the influences that surrounded me in childhood." 

All honor to woman! Without her smiles the world 
would lose its brightness — society's charm would exist 
no longer. Christianity would languish without her aid. 
" In whose principles," said the dying daughter of Ethan 
Allen to her sceptical father — "in whose principles shall 
I die — yours or my Christian mother's?" The stern old 
hero of Ticonderoga brushed away a tear from his eye as 
he turned away and with the same rough voice which 
summoned the British to surrender, now tremulous with 
deep emotion, said — " in your Christian mother's, child, 
in your mother's." Sacred to the heart is the memory 
of a mother's love. 

It has often been truly remarked that in sickness there 
is no hand like a woman's hand — no heart like a woman's 
heart — no eye so untiring — no hope so fervent. Woman 
by a sick man's couch is divinity impersonated. If there 
be a situation wherein woman may be deemed to appro- 
priate angelic attributes, it is when she ministers, as only 
woman can, to the wants and weakness of the invalid ! 
Whose hand like hers can smooth his pillow ? Whose 
voice so effectually silences the querulousness of his tem- 
per ? Proffered by her, the viand hath an added zest, 
and even the nauseous medicament is divested of its 
loathsomeness. 

To certain women there is an inexpressible fascination 
in this dalliance with danger — the compromise between 
love and coquetry. It is their one excitement, and it is 
worth to them all the thousand others that serve to re- 
lieve, or more often to distract, the dullness of their lords 
and masters. They are content to be whirled out of 
their own thoughts in that pleasing vortex. Its edifying 
rapidity is so delightful — its attraction so gently power- 
ful — its surface, up to the very edge, so smooth and glassy ; 
all is charming until the last fatal plunge itself, when the 
abyss is opened to its victim and then closes upon her 
forever. Without constancy there is neither love, friend- 
ship or virtue. All the influence which women enjoy 
in society — their right to the exercise of that maternal 



MAX AND WOMAN. 63 

care which forms the first and most indelible species of 
education ; the wholesome restraint which they possess 
over the passions of mankind ; their power of protecting 
us when young, and cheering us when old. depend so 
entirely upon their personal purity, and the charm which 
it casts around them, that to insinuate a doubt of its real 
value is willfully to remove the broadest corner stone on 
which civil society rests, with all its benefits and all its 
comforts. But let a woman err. and she is driven, like 
Eve. from the social paradise. If even the breath of 
suspicion blow upon her vestal robe, it is soiled. If she 
lapse but once from the path of virtue, she "•falls like 
Lucifer.'' Xo penitence, however protracted, can replace 
her on the pedestal from which she fell. Xo tears can 
wash away the stain upon her fair name. You might as 
well attempt to reconstruct a broken vase or to restore 
the tints and fragrance of a faded flower. 

u The white snow lay 

On the narrow pathway 
Where the lord of the valley crossed over the moor, 

And many a deep print 

In the white snow's tint 
Showed the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's door. 

The next sirn's ray, 

Soon melted away 
Every trace on the path where the false lord came ! 

But none shall see the day. 

When "the stain shall pass away — 
The stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's farne. 

Man may err, and be forgiven : but poor woman, with 
all his temptation, and but half his strength, is placed 
beyond the hope of earthly salvation, if she but once be 
tempted on to crime. 

Pleasure is to women, what the sun is to the flower : 
if moderately enjoyed, it beautifies, it refreshes, and it 
improves ; if immoderately, it withers, etiolates, and 
destroys. But the duties of domestic life, exercised as 
they must be in retirement, and calling forth all the sen- 
sibilities of the female, are. perhaps, as necessary to the 
full development of her charms, as the shade and the 
shower are to the rose, confirming its beauty, and increas- 
ing its fragrance. The utmost of a woman's character 
is contained in domestic life ; first, in her piety towards 



64 MAN AND WOMAN. 

God ; and next, in the duties of a daughter, a wife, a 
mother, and a sister. 

When the Emperor Conrade, besieged Guelpho, Duke 
of Bavaria, he would not accept of any other conditions 
than that the men should be prisoners ; but that the wo- 
men might go out of the town without violation of their 
honor, on foot, and with so much only as they could carry 
about them, which was no sooner known, than they con- 
trived to carry out upon their shoulders, their husbands 
and children, and even the Duke himself. The Emper- 
or was so affected with the generosity of the action, that 
he treated the Duke and his people ever after, with great 
humanity. 

In all the characters of excellent women, there is not 
a more illustrious instance of filial piety than the story 
of Cimomus, w r ho, being cast into prison, and there ad- 
judged to be starved to death, his daughter Xantippe fed 
him through the iron grate with the milk of her own 
breasts. When Columbus braved the perils of unknown 
seas to add America to the world, it was the white hand 
of a woman that fitted him for his venturesome voyage 
of discovery. So woman equips man every day for the 
voyage of life. Woman, as man's helper, rises to her 
"peculiar and best altitude." He represents the intellect 
— she the mind-governing heart. Power appertains to 
him ; but influence, more subtle and penetrating than 
power, in its most delicate and all-pervading form, belongs 
to her. A man discovered America, but a woman 
equipped the voyage. So everywhere ; man executes the 
performances, but woman trains the man. Every effec- 
tual person, leaving his mark on the world, is but another 
Columbus, for whose furnishing some Isabella, in the 
form of his mother, lays down her jewelry, her vanities, 
her comforts. 



CHILDHOOD. 65 



CHILDHOOD. 



It is pleasant to see an innocent child, just budding 
into life — -just beginning to lisp the words of its mother's 
tongue. With no care upon its brow, free from art and 
guile, without deceit, it but lisps the feelings of con- 
scious innocence. There is a beautiful mystery about 
infancy and childhood. It is natural for us to gaze upon 
a gentle child with feelings of love, and something of 
reverence and wonder. I delight in little children; I 
could spend hours in watching them. How much there 
is in them that the Saviour loved, when he took a little 
child and set him in the midst. Their simplicity, their 
confidence in you, the fund of happiness with which their 
beneficent Creator has endowed them, that when intelli- 
gence is less developed, and so affords less enjoyment, 
the natural spirits are an inexhaustible fund of infantile 
pleasure. Call not that man poor or wretched who, 
whatever ills he suffers, has a child to love. 

A house full of children composes as powerful a group 
of motives as ever moved a heart or hand, and the secret 
of many a struggle and triumph in the worlds battle may 
be found throned in its mother's lap at home. A nation's 
hope, before now, has been found in a basket of bulrush- 
es. Be afraid of the man that children are afraid of, 
and be sure that he who hates them is not himself worth 
loving. 

Woe to him who smiles not over a cradle, and weeps 
not over a tomb. He who has never tried the compan- 
ionship of a little child, has carelessly passed by one 
of the greatest pleasures of life, as one passes a rare 
flower without plucking it or knowing its value. 
The gleeful laugh of happy children is the best home 
music, and the graceful figures of childhood are the best 
statuary. We are all kings and queens in the cradle, and 
each babe is a new marvel, a new miracle. The perfec- 
tion of the providence for childhood is easily acknowl- 
edged. The care which covers the seed of the tree 
under tough husks, and stony cases provides for the human 



66 CHILDHOOD. 

plant, the mother's breast and the father's house. The 
size of the nestler is comic, and its tiny, beseeching weak- 
ness is compensated perfectly by the one happy, patron- 
izing look of the mother ; who is a sort of high-reposing 
Providence to it. Welcome to the parents the puny 
straggler, strong in his weakness, his little arms more 
irresistible than the soldiers, his lips touched with per- 
suasion which Chatham and Pericles in manhood had not. 
His unaffected lamentations when he lifts up his voice on 
high ; or, more beautiful, the sobbing child — the face all 
liquid grief, as he tries to swallow his vexation — soften 
all hearts to pity, and to mirthful and clamorous compas- 
sion. The small despot asks so little that all reason and 
all nature are on his side. His ignorance is more charm- 
ing than all knowledge, and his little sins more bewitching 
than any virtue. His flesh is angel's flesh, all alive. 
"Infancy," said Coleridge, "presents body and spirit in 
unity ; the body is all animated." All day, between his 
three or four sleeps, he coos like a pigeon house, sputters 
and spurs, and puts on his faces of importance, and when 
he fasts, the little Pharisee fails not to sound his trumpet 
before him. By lamplight, he delights in shadows on the 
wall ; by daylight, in yellow and scarlet. Carry him out 
of doors — he is overpowered by the light and by the 
extent of natural objects, and is silent. Then presently 
begins his use of his fingers, and he studies power — the 
lesson of his race. First it appears in no great harm, in 
architectural tastes. Out of blocks, thread spools, cards 
and checkers, he will build his pyramid with the gravity 
of Palladio. With an acoustic apparatus of whistle and 
rattle, he explores the laws of sound. But chiefly, like 
his senior countrymen, the young American studies new 
and speedier modes of transportation. Mistrusting the 
cunning of his small legs, he wishes to ride on the necks 
and shoulders of all flesh. The small enchanter nothing 
can withstand — no seniority of age, no gravity of char- 
acter; uncles, aunts, grandsires, grandams, fall an easy 
prey ; he conforms to nobody, all conform to him ; all 
caper and make mouths, and baddle and chirrup to him. 
On the strongest shoulders he rides, and pulls the hair of 
laurelled heads. 



CHILDHOOD. 67 

The child is the mirror of the adult. Men learn their 
own nature by watching the development of children. 
We deem children the poetry of the world — the fresh 
flowers of our hearts and homes ; little conjurors, with 
their "natural magic," evoking by their spells what de- 
lights and enriches all ranks, and equalizes the different 
classes of society. Often as they bring with them anx- 
ieties and cares, and live to occasion sorrow and grief, 
we should get on very badly without them. Only think, 
if there was never anything anywhere to be seen but 
great grown-up men and women, how we should long for 
a sight of a little child ! Every infant comes into the 
world like a degenerated prophet, the harbinger and 
herald of good tidings, whose office it is to turn " the 
hearts of the fathers to the children," and to draw " the 
disobedient to the wisdom of the just." A child softens 
and purifies the heart, warming and melting it by its 
gentle presence ; it enriches the soul with new feelings, 
and awakens within it what is favorable to virtue. It is 
a beam of light, a fountain of love, a teacher whose les- 
sons few can resist. Infants recall us from much that 
engenders and encourages selfishness, that freezes the 
affections, roughens the manners and indurates the heart ; 
they brighten the home, deepen love, invigorate exer- 
tion, infuse courage, and vivify and sustain the charities 
of life. 

Christ, in blessing the little ones of Judea, blessed all 
children, and meant that we should reverence them as 
the hope of the world. How, when life grows dark be- 
fore us — when its woes oppress, and its crime appeals, 
we turn instinctively to little children, with their brave 
sunny faces of faith and good cheer — their eyes of un- 
conscious prophecy, and drink from the full fountain of 
their fresh young natures, courage and comfort, and deep 
draughts of divine love and constancy ! How a child's 
sweet smile falls like oil on the waters of thought, vexed 
by worldly care, and smoothes them into peace! As 
the infant begins to discriminate between the objects 
around, it soon discovers one countenance that ever smiles 
upon it with peculiar benignity. When it wakes from 



68 CHILDHOOD. 

its sleep, there is a watchful form ever bent over its cra- 
dle. If startled by some unhappy dream, a guardian 
angel seems ever ready to soothe its fears. If cold, that 
ministering spirit brings it warmth; if hungry, she feeds 
it ; if in pain, she relieves it ; if happy she caresses it. 
In joy or sorrow, in weal or woe, she is the first object of 
its thoughts. Her presence is its heaven. The mother 
is the deity of infancy. 

A babe is a mother's anchor. She cannot go far from 
her moorings. And yet a true mother never lives so 
little in the present as when by the side of the cradle. 
Her thoughts follow the imagined future of her child. 
That babe is the boldest of pilots, and guides her fear- 
less thoughts down through scenes of coming years. The 
old ark never made such a voyage as the cradle daily 
makes. Maternity is the perfecting, not only of woman- 
hood, but humanity. And to the first baby, has God 
given the sacred power to complete the circle of human 
sympathies, to waken the conscious soliclitary of human 
interests. Every mother that is a mother, pictures the 
whole troop of loves, joys, and sorrows hovering around 
" the first baby." She lays every mother's baby in the 
cradle which held her own first baby, and listens to the 
songs that gush forth, or as they are softly murmured in 
the mother-heart. To a mother's heart, every mother's 
baby is the representative of inestimable treasure; it is 
an estate held in u fee simple;" a little sub-soiler that 
leaves no affections fallow, no sympathies isolated from 
the claims of a common humanity. The first baby! — 
why, it brings treasure with it ! True its little hand is 
empty ; but then it brings to light and activity unrevealed 
capacities, looses the sealed fountains, and assays the un- 
wrought treasure of the human soul. It is not all joy — 
that baby gift; — if it were it could not be a joy forever. 
It is not all sorrow ; if it were, the fountains of the heart 
it stirs, could not grow pure to reflect the heaven above ; 
would not flow down the stream of time, bearing rich 
freight for unknown and unborn posterity. But see, it 
lays its tiny hand on the heart, and it forgets to beat for 
self. It pillows its soft cheek on the bosom that, hither- 



CHILDHOOD. 69 

to, had looked out upon the struggling world — all un- 
linked to its wants, all unmoved by its destiny — and 
henceforth that bosom is the asylum of the orphan, the 
refuge of the oppressed, the sanctuary which invites a 
world lying in wretchedness to the banquet of love, to 
the smiles of a common Father. And why? — Ah, that 
baby is the medium through which the helplessness, the 
wants and the promise of humanity have appealed to 
the ivoman. In behalf of the race, it has whispered 
mother! and looking into its trusting, worshipping eyes, 
she accepts the consecration, answers the appeal with a 
deep, an eternity echoed — my child. 

Not without design has God implanted in the mater- 
nal breast that strong love of their children which is felt 
everywhere. This lays deep and broad the foundation 
for the child's future education from parental hands. Nor 
without designs has Christ commanded, " Feed my 
lambs," — meaning to inculcate upon his Church the duty 
of caring for the children of the Church and the world 
at the earliest possible period. Nor can parents and all 
well-wishers to humanity be too earnest and careful to 
fulfill the promptings of their very nature and the com- 
mand of Christ in this matter. Influence is as quiet and 
imperceptible on the child's mind as the falling of snow 
flakes on the meadow. One cannot tell the hour when 
the human mind is not in the condition of receiving im- 
pressions from exterior moral forces. In innumerable 
instances, the most secret and unnoticed influences have 
been in operation for months and even years to break 
down the strongest barriers of the human heart, and 
work out its moral ruin, while yet the fondest parents 
and friends have been unaware of the working of such 
unseen agents of evil. Not all at once does any heart 
become utterly bad. The error is in this : that parents 
are not conscious how early the seeds of vice are sown 
and take root. It is as the Gospel declares, " While men 
slept, the enemy came and sowed tares, and went his 
way." If this then is the error, how shall it be corrected, 
and what is the antidote to be applied! Why this — if 
we have " slept " over the early susceptibility of child- 



70 CHILDHOOD. 

ren's minds to the formation of character, we must wake 
up from our sleep, and acknowledge our error. And the 
antidote and remedy is simple and plain — we must pre- 
occupy the soil ; sow in the soil of these minds and hearts 
the seeds of knowledge and virtue, before the enemy 
shall sow there the tares of vice and crime. This is the 
true doctrine of our duty to the children around our 
tables and in our streets. Up, then, ye workers, and sow 
your seed in the morn of childhood. Withhold not the 
hand from earnest culture and honest toil. No labor 
here shall be in vain. 

Childhood is like a mirror, catching and reflecting 
images all around it. Remember, that an impious or 
profane thought uttered by the parent's lips, may operate 
on the young heart like a careless spray of water thrown 
upon polished steel, staining it with rust, which no after- 
scouring can effiace. 

Grown persons are apt to put a lower estimate than is 
just, on the understanding of children. They rate them 
by what they know ; and children know very little ; but 
their comprehension is great. Hence the continual won- 
der of those who are unaccustomed to them, at the old 
fashioned ways of some lone little one, who has no play- 
fellows — and at the odd mixture of the folly and wisdom 
in its sayings. A continual battle goes on in the child's 
mind, between what it knows and what it comprehends. 
Its answers are foolish from partial ignorance ; and wise 
from extreme quickness of apprehension. The great art 
of education is so to train this last faculty as neither to 
depress nor over-exert it. The matured mediocrity of 
many an infant prodigy proves both the degree of ex- 
pansion in which it is possible to force a child's intellect, 
and the boundary which nature has set to the success of 
such false culture. 

A majority of character, throughout civilized society, 
gets its mood and bent from home influences. Educa- 
tion, it has been well said, forms the common mind, and 
home influences are the most impressive common educa- 
tors. Good or bad, their potency is the same. What 
else can reasonably be so authoritative to the mind of a 



CHILDHOOD. 71 

child as the teachings and examples of parents — parents 
universally regarded by their children as supreme in 
judgment and power. And this being the case, how 
careful should parents and guardians be, that all their 
teachings and examples are on the side of virtue. How 
frequently the parent is called to reprove in the child, a 
passion or practice caught from that parent's example. 
We have known a father, habitually profane, to punish 
a son for swearing. We have known a mother of un- 
governed temper, to punish a daughter for an imitative 
tithe of her own faults. This is inconsistent and unjust, 
and children soon see it thus — and so to the bad influ- 
ence of bad example, is added the worse influence of 
injustice. But besides virtuous teachings and examples, 
there are other means of happy influences accessible to 
most homes. Chief among these are flowers, books and 
newspapers, pictures, music and cheerful social games. 
By a proper use of these, childhood may not only gain 
knowledge and refinement with the most positive pleasure, 
and they will serve not only as a guard, but as the best 
and surest guard against temptation to less innocent en- 
joyments. What home — even the rudest cabin — so poor 
but flowers may be cultivated therein ? How few are the 
American homes where books and newspapers may not 
be had. And pictures with their endless charm for 
children, the illustrated papers and cheap engravings 
will furnish them for a trifle. As for music, few are the 
children whom God has not gifted to make it, with but 
little study. Of social games, it needs but the will to 
have them in abundance. It is not so much the fault of 
children — ever restless, curious and aspiring — that they 
are impatient of the meagre surroundings of their homes. 
They will tire even of sunshine, daisies and butterflies ; 
tire of all lovable and healthful out-of-door pastimes, and 
not long can they be kept cheerful and happy within 
doors, except there be a diversity of pleasant occupations 
there. And as the occupations, so will be the influences. 
Yet though, as Wordsworth says, " the child is father of 
the man," and " as the twig is bent the tree's inclined, " 
how many parents rid themselves of their children's im- 



72 CHILDHOOD. 

patience by turning them away to do as they please, 
rather than take the trouble — which ought to be a 
pleasure — to provide them agreeable occupation. Alas ! 
in after years too many such parents will have cause to 
regret that, first of all, they did not attend to that first 
and greatest of parental duties, the surrounding of their 
children with pleasant, controlling home influences. 

Make room for children. Room and freedom for them 
at home, that they may expand and strengthen those 
faculties and functions which are soon to constitute the 
man-and-womanhood of a generation. Room for them 
in the nursery and on the play-ground, with opportunity 
and freedom to exercise, if you would have them hearty, 
cheerful, and home-loving. Too much, in the main, are 
children burrowed and quashed at home, where they 
should be encouraged to gambol and rejoice — at home, 
where their voices should ring out merry as the voices of 
summer birds. Room for the children at school. At 
school, where they are too often imprisoned, stifled, and 
dwarfed in body and mind. Room and freedom for the 
children at school, that they may breathe fresh air, and 
commune with their teachers, not as masters — stern, un- 
bending, and unsympathising — but as intellectual guides 
and social friends. Room for the children at church, too, 
and see that they are attracted — as they can be — thither, 
and not driven with the u rod of correction," or the 
chilling rebuke. More room, greater care' for, and a 
higher common estimate of children, if you would stim- 
ulate their ambition to win your regard. Children are 
generally older, more observing, and more capable than 
they seem. The less you ignore them, the less will they 
ignore you. The more you cultivate them, the more will 
they cultivate you. Give them no room, teach them to 
think you believe them nobodies, and ten to one they 
will strive to justify such a belief. Room for the children, 
God's holiest and tenderest Messing — the light of our 
homes and the delight of our hearts. Room for them 
everywhere, and not least in the public place, the public 
conveyance, at the public table. Tuck them not in a 
corner, crowd them not to the wall, leave them not for- 



CHILDHOOD. 73 

ever to the second course and the fragments of the feast, 
unless you would have them grow up thoughtless of jus- 
tice and selfish as yourselves, to practice, in turn upon 
their children as you practice upon them. Do unto child- 
ren, always, even as ye, when ye were children, would 
have been done by. Thus, reader, shall you enlarge and 
soften many an intellect and heart ; thus prevent many a 
home being made sad and desolate by domestic bitterness. 
Everybody's rights seem to be recognised and talked 
about but the children's ; and yet we venture to say that 
those of none are infringed upon more than theirs. We 
who are not so far removed from childhood, either in 
accumulation of years or lack of sympathy, can remem- 
ber how many childish grievances we had — how dreadful 
they seemed to us then, and of how little importance 
the rules sometimes have seemed since we looked back 
with older eyes. It is well to look at these things in 
our dealings with our children, who are governed and 
scolded and found fault with far too much. Dr. Hall, in 
his excellent work of " Health by Good Living," gives 
parents a good piece of advice in telling them to let the 
children alone when they gather around the family table. 
It is a cruelty to hamper them with manifold rules and 
regulations about this, and that, and the other. As long 
as their conduct is harmless as to others, encourage them 
in their cheeriness. Suppose a child does not sit as 
straight as a ramrod at the the table ; suppose a cup or 
tumbler slips through his little fingers and deluges the 
plate of food below, and the goblet is smashed, and the 
table-cloth is ruined ; do not look a thousand scowls and 
thunders, and scare the poor thing to the balance of its 
death, for it was scared half to death before ; it ." did not 
go to do it." Did you never let a glass slip through 
your fingers since you were grown ? Instead of sending 
the child away from the table in anger, if not even with 
a threat for this or any other little nothing, be as gener- 
ous as you would to an equal or superior guest, to whom 
you would, with a more or less obsequious smile, "it is 
of no possible consequence." That would be the form 
of expression even to a stranger guest, and yet to your 



74 CHILDHOOD. 

own child you remorselessly, and revengefully, and angrily 
mete out a swift punishment, which for the time almost 
breaks its little heart, and belittles you amazingly. The 
proper and more enlightened mode of dealing out re- 
proof to the child, when it seems necessary, is to take no 
notice of mishaps or bad behavior at the time, or to go 
further, and divert attention from them at the very in- 
stant, if possible, or to make a kind apology for them ; 
but afterwards, in an hour or two, or better still, next 
day, draw the child's attention to the fault, if fault it is, 
in a friendly and loving manner ; point out the impro- 
priety in some kindly way ; show where it was wrong or 
rude, and appeal to the child's self-respect or manliness. 
This is the best way to correct all family errors. Some- 
times it may not succeed ; sometimes harsh measures may 
be required ; but try the deprecating or the kindly 
method with equanimity of mind, and failure will be of 
rare occurrence. Never mar home life by cross words 
or peevishness. Drive all such clouds away, and dwell 
only in sunshine. 

This world is full of rough places, and its jagged fea- 
tures are as frequently seen in the faces around us, as in 
its rocks and caverns. The father, stern and unyielding, 
drives sunshine from the house, or the mother, full of res- 
ponsibility, cuffs the children into corners, and has order 
and neatness at the expense of their liberty and happi- 
ness. Perhaps a youth of seventeen, presumes to govern, 
and ma and children must keep still. The novel-reading 
young lady becomes horribly nervous if the little ones 
touch the sofa on which she reclines. The girl in the 
kitchen frowns them out of her presence, or scolds them, 
without shame. Poor little things ! how much they seem 
to be in the way. One moment petted and carried in 
our bosoms, the next cuffed and abused as if the cause 
of all our trials. A disagreement between parents is 
frequently revenged upon the children, and every care- 
less act is laid to their charge. A lost spoon, a broken 
china, a misplaced book, is referred to them, and before 
they can command language to defend themselves, they 
take it for granted that pa, ma, big brother and sister 



CHILDHOOD. 7o 

must be right and they wrong. Where is the wisdom 
in saying to a child, be a man ? If the mind be curbed 
and humbled too much in children — if their spirits be 
abased and broken by too strict a hand over them — they 
lose all their vigor and industry. 

u I wish father would come home." The voice that 
said this had a troubled tone, and the face that looked 
up was sad. "Your father will be very angry," said an 
aunt, who was sitting in the room with a book in her 
hand. The boy raised himself from the sofa, where he 
had been lying in tears for half an hour, and with a touch 
of indignation in his voice, answered — "He'll be sorry, 
not angry. Father never gets angry." For a few mo- 
ments the aunt looked at the boy half curiously, and let 
her eyes fall again on the book in her hand. The boy 
laid himself down on the sofa again, and hid his face from 
sight. "That's father, now!" He had started up after 
the lapse of nearly ten minutes, as the sound of a bell 
reached his ear, and went to the room door. He stood 
there for a little while and then came slowly back, saying 
with a disappointed air: "It isn't father. I wonder what 
keeps him so late? Oh, I wish he would come." "You 
seem anxious to get deeper into trouble," remarked the 
aunt, who had only been in the house for a week, and 
was not very amiable nor very sympathising toward 
children. The boy's fault had provoked her, and she 
considered him a fit subject for punishment, "I believe, 
aunt Phoebe, that you would like to see me whipped," 
said the boy, a little warmly, "but you won't." "I must 
confess," replied aunt Phoebe, "that I think a little whole- 
some discipline of the kind you speak of would not be 
out of place. If you were my child, I am very sure you 
wouldn't escape." "I am not your child. I do not 
want to be. Father is good and loves me." "If your father 
is so good and loves you so well, you must be very un- 
grateful or a very inconsiderate boy. His goodness don't 
seem to have helped you much." "Hush, will you!" 
ejaculated the boy, excited to anger by this unkindness 
of speech. 

"Phoebe !" It was the boy's mother who spoke now for 



76 CHILDHOOD. 

the first time. In an undertone adding, "you are wrong. 
Richard is suffering quite enough, and you are doing him 
harm rather than good." Again the bell rang, and again 
the boy left the sofa and went to the sitting room door. 
"It's father !" and he went gliding down stairs. "Ah, 
Richard !" was the kindly greeting, as Mr. Gordon took 
the hand of his boy. "But what is the matter, my son ? 
You don't look happy." "Won't you come in here?" 
And Richard drew his father into the library. Mr. Gor- 
don sat down, still holding Richard's hand. "You are in 
trouble my son. What has happened ?" The eyes of 
Richard filled with tears as he looked into his father's 
face. He tried to answer, but his lips quivered. Then 
he turned away, and opening the door to the cabinet, 
brought the fragments of broken statue, which had been 
sent home only the day before, and set them on the table 
before his father, over whose countenance came instantly 
a shadow of regret. "Who did this, my son ?" was asked 
in an even voice. "I did." "How?" "I threw my ball in 
there once — only once in forgetfulness." The poor boy's 
tones were husky and tremulous. A little while Mr. 
Gordon sat controlling himself and collecting his disturbed 
thoughts, then he said cheerfully, " What is done, 
Richard, can't be helped. Put the broken pieces away. 
You have had trouble enough about it, I can see — and 
reproof for your thoughtlessness — so I will not add a 
word to increase your pain." "Father!" And the boy 
threw his arms about his father's neck. "You are so kind, 
so good!" Five minutes later, and Richard entered the 
sitting room with his father. Aunt Phoebe looked up 
for two shadowed faces, but she did not see them. She 
was puzzled. "That was very unfortunate," she said a 
little while after Mr. Gordon came in. "It is hopelessly 
ruined." Richard was leaning against his father when 
his aunt said this. Mr. Gordon only smiled and threw 
his arms around his boy. Mrs. Gordon threw upon her 
a look of warning, but it was unheeded. "I think Richard 
was a very naughty boy." " We have settled that Phoe- 
be," was the mild and firm answer of Mr. Gordon; "and 
it is one of our rules to get into the sunshine as soon as 



CHILDHOOD. 77 

possible." Phoebe was rebuked ; and Richard looked 
grateful, and it may be a little triumphant, for his aunt 
had borne down upon him rather hard for a boy's patience 
to endure. In the sunshine as quickly as possible ! Oh, 
is it not the better philosophy ? It is selfishness that 
grows angry and rebels, because a fault has been com- 
mitted. Let us get the offender into the sunshine as 
quickly as possible, so that true thought and right feel- 
ings may grow vigorous in its warmth. We retain anger, 
not that anger may act as a wholesome discipline, but 
because we are unwilling to forgive. Ah, if we were 
always right ourselves, we would oftener be right with 
our children. 

I thought I knew before that grown up people should 
regard the rights of their children, and be careful not to 
destroy any of their precious little possessions, said a 
good mother recently, but it seemed that I needed a 
little bitter experience to make me know it thoroughly. 
In cleaning up the room I gathered up some torn pieces 
of newspaper, and with them a leaf from an old blank 
book scrawled over with the curious hieroglyphics my 
little boy delights in. I crushed them all up together, 
and stuffed them in the stove, with a sudden fear, as the 
flames devoured them, that the child might miss his 
drawings. But he made so many such scrawls, I hardly 
could see why he should wish to preserve any of them. 
After breakfast I heard him saying: "I wonder where 
that paper is that I marked on last night. I wish I could 
find it. Don't you know, mamma, that piece of count 
book I made machinery on when you lay on the lounge? 
Where do you suppose it is?" "Can't you make another 
one like it?" I asked. "I can't remember just how that 
was," he said; "and it had my dendal cars on it. I want 
that I must find it!" And he emptied his box of play- 
things and tools upon the floor, to make sure whether it 
was among his books and papers or not. I had not the 
courage to tell him that it was gone past all recovery, 
and by the cruel thoughtlessness of his own mamma. At 
last he concluded to try again on a fresh leaf of the old 
account book. Presently he came to me, saying : "Oh! 



78 CHILDHOOD. 

I do want that piece I had last night so much ! Can't 
you find it for me ?" Suddenly I found grace to say : 
"My little boy, I am afraid that is what mamma "burned 
up this morning with some torn newspaper." "Oh! I 
can't live !" he burst out, "I want it so very much!" For 
a minute or two I suppose his loss was quite as severe 
for him to bear as was Carlyle's for his man's heart, when 
he first discovered that his maid-servant had kindled the 
fire with the precious manuscript of the "French Revo- 
lution," on which he had labored so long. My boy saw 
that I was sorry, and he soon became reconciled to 
a loss for which there was no remedy. It is one of 
the greatest wrongs little children have to bear — the 
failure of grown-up people, who should be their guar- 
dians and helpers, to appreciate their feelings and aims. 
We expect the little ones to understand us, and try to 
conform to our standards, but we lose many beautiful les- 
sons in not trying to enter into their spirit and plans — 
matching the outreaching of their growing faculties with 
wise and gentle guiding, so that all their happy play shall 
really be a useful education. My mother told me how 
she learned to enter into a child's feelings and bear with 
its "litter." Her first-born son — a child always, to her 
heart, because the angels took him so early — had got 
possession of an old jackknife. She had just swept her 
carpets, and put the room to "rights," when she discovered 
Henry with a pine stick and his knife, making little chips 
all over on the bright clean carpet. "Oh, Henry!" she 
said, "you have littered my clean carpet. See how bad 
those little chips look on the floor!" With wondering 
gravity, he gazed at the dear little chips he had been so 
proud to be able to scatter, then lifting his frank, inno- 
cent eyes, he said earnestly: "They look jpitty to me /" 
Instantly the whole scene was beautiful to my mother, 
little chips and all ; and she carries the sweet picture with 
her ever since, and all the little children love her the 
better for it without knowing why. 

The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. 
In the morning of life they are all behind us ; at noon 
we trample them under foot, and in the evening they 



CHILDHOOD. 79 

stretch long, broad and deepening before us. Are not, 
then, the sorrows of childhood as dark as those of age ? 
Are not the morning shadows of life as deep and broad 
as those of its evening ? Yes, but morning shadows 
soon fade away, while those of evening reach forward 
into night. 

They will not trouble you long. Children grow up — 
nothing on earth grows so fast as children. It was but 
yesterday, and that lad was playing with tops, a buoyant 
boy. He is a man, and gone now ! There is no more 
childhood for him or for us. Life has claimed him. When 
a beginning is made, it is like a raveling stocking ; stitch 
by stitch gives way till all are gone. The house has not 
a child in it— there is no more noise in the hall — boys 
rushing in pell-mell ; it is very orderly now. There are 
no more skates or sleds, bats, balls or strings left scattered 
about. Things are neat enough now. There is no delay 
for sleepy folks ; there is no longer any task, before you 
lie down, of looking after anybody, and tucking up the 
bedclothes. There are no disputes to settle, nobody to 
get off to school, no complaint, no importunities for im- 
possible things, no rips to mend, no fingers to tie up, no 
faces to be washed, or collars to be arranged. There never 
was such peace in the house ! It would sound like music 
to have some feet to clatter down the front stairs! Oh 
for some children's noise ! What used to ail us, that we 
were hushing their loud laugh, checking their noisy frolic, 
and reproving their slamming and banging the doors ? 
We wish our neighbors would only lend us an urchin or 
two to make a little noise in these premises. A home 
without children ! It is like a lantern and no candle ; a 
garden and no flowers; a vine and no grapes ; a brook 
and no water gurgling and gushing in its channel. We 
want to be tired, to be vexed, to be run over, to hear 
children at work with all its varieties. During the sec- 
ular days, this is enough marked. But it is the Sabbath 
that puts our homes to the proof. That is the Christian 
family day. The intervals of public worship are long 
spaces of peace. The family seems made up on that 
day. The children are at home. You can lay your 



80 CHILDHOOD. 

hands upon their heads. They seem to recognize the 
greater and lesser love — to God and to friends. The 
house is peaceful, but not still. There is a low and me- 
lodious trill of children in it. But the Sabbath comes 
too still now. There is a silence that aches in the ear. 
There is too much room at the table, too much at the 
hearth. The bedrooms are a world too orderly. There 
is too much leisure and too little care. Alas ! what mean 
these things ? Is somebody growing old ? Are these 
signs and tokens ? Is life waning ? 

Mothers don't whip them ! Treat God's lambs tenderly. 
Compel obedience, but not with the rod. The other 
evening the maternal face appeared at the. door of a 
pleasant little home I had often noticed, and loudly or- 
dered a little lad of three or so to "come in and see if 
she did not do as she said she would." The mother, in 
her wrath at being disobeyed, re-entered the house, 
not hearing the little one's sobbing explanation that he 
had stepped outside to bring the baby in. Directly the 
blows and piteous cries fell upon my ears. Undoubtedly 
the little one had gone beyond the prescribed bounds ; 
but it was to bring the wee toddling thing inside, who, 
as yet heeded not commands, however harshly given, and 
his full heart and meagre use of words withheld the pow- 
er of explanation. Poor little man, how my heart ached 
for him ! Kissless and sad he went to his bed. Mothers, 
do not whip them ! Do not yourselves make shadows in 
the sunlight with which God always surrounds children. 
Do not let them be lulled to sleep by the falling of their 
tears, or by their own sad sobs and sighs. Far pleasanter 
it is when you go to tuck them in at night, to find pink 
feet on the pillow, dimpled knees in air, toys yet in em- 
brace and smiles on their sweet mouths. Yourselves 
bear in mind their last words, "If I should die before I 
wake." Treat them tenderly. I took my little man a 
shot-gun to-night, and, handing it over the gate, I said, 
"Now will you mind your mamma, and stay inside when 
she tells you?" I am sure the "me will" was very sin- 
cere ; but if they forget, bear with them. If childhood's 
days cannot be free from sorrow, surely none ever may. 



CHILDHOOD. 81 

Children are more easily led to be good by examples 
of loving kindness, and tales of well-doing in others, 
than threatened into obedience by records of sin, crime 
and punishment. Then on the infant mind impress sin- 
cerity, truth, honesty, benevolence and their kindred 
virtues, and the welfare of your child will be insured not 
only during this life, but the life to come. Oh, what a 
responsibility to form a creature, the frailest and feeblest 
that heaven has made, into the intelligent and fearless 
sovereign of the whole animated creation, the interpre- 
ter and adorer and almost the representative of Divinity 
— to train the ignorance and weakness of infancy into 
all the virtue and power and wisdom of mature years ! 

There is, perhaps, no duty more frequently inculcated 
and enjoined in the Bible, than that conveyed to the 
mind and understanding by the four words which we 
have placed at the head of this article. The family is of 
divine origin — instituted by Jehovah himself. He saw 
that it was not good that man should be alone, and 
created woman full of tenderness and love, blooming 
with beauty, and blushing with charms, without whom 
man, even in Paradise, could not be completely happy. 
The mutual desire of each for the other was fully realized 
in that union which of the twain made one flesh. It was 
required of them to obey their Heavenly Father as it is 
of their offspring that they obey their earthly parents. 

The spirit of disobedience soon manifested itself in the 
first human pair, and was transmitted to their children 
and to their children's children, and will continue down 
to the latest posterity. Notwithstanding this, however, 
the command of God is to all children, "obey your par- 
ents;" and the command of parents, is " bring up your 
children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." 
This is no less imperative than that given to children. In 
the parents is placed the authority, to educate, instruct, 
and train their children. And to the children it is said, 
"obey your parents in all things, for this is right and 
well pleasing to the Lord." 

The child is no more dependent on his parents for his 
food and raiment, than for intellectual and religious nur- 
6 



82 CHILDHOOD. 

ture. If the former two be withheld the little one soon 
perishes. If these be duly administered, and mental and 
religious culture be withholden, the child grows up to 
bodily maturity with strong animal passions and desires, 
and being goaded on by these, knows nothing of the re- 
straints felt by one who has been carefully trained and 
instructed in things spiritual, as well as provided for in 
things temporal, and consequently is fit for little else, 
than the doing of what should be left undone — and thus 
incurring the penalty of broken law. Better, far better 
for both parent and child, had the little one not been 
born, than that he should have a birth only that his body 
may be nourished to the stature of manhood. 

For the want of the due exercise of parental authority 
multitudes of children of both sexes are growing up 
candidates for every evil work. How often have we 
seen the mother parley with her darling child at the 
table, for example : — There are pies, cakes, preserves, 
and the like upon the table, and plainer food ; also the 
child, prompted by pampered appetite, asks for pie, per- 
haps; the mother says no — you must eat some of the 
coarser food first — the child says not so. After much 
effort to persuade, and not a little noise and clamor on 
the part of the dear little rebel, the mother yields — the 
child has conquered — and this same performance is gone 
through with every day, or as often as the temptation 
arises. What a fearful responsibility rests upon such 
parents — deliberately ruining their children, — making 
them wretched for this world even to say nothing of that 
which is to come. No such child knows anything about 
obedience. If he ever does what he is told to do, it is 
from some other motive than that of obedience. Such a 
child will not be very likely to obey God, or regard man 
any farther than prompted by self-interest. 

" How sharper than a serpent's tooth 
Is an unthankful child." 

An eccentric Elder, well known as an active and earn- 
est Baptist preacher, once said from the pulpit : " They 
say there's no family government nowadays. But there 
is; I tell you there is, just as much as there ever was ; 



CHILDHOOD. 83 

but (leaning over the pulpit, and lowering his voice into 
a quiet and confidential tone) the difference is this : — 
When I grew up the old folks governed the young ones, 
but now the young ones govern the old ones." 

Young parent, do you think that your children are 
yours, to have and to hold for your own pleasure and 
profit ? — that you have a right to do what you will with 
them ? You mistake ; they are but lent to you. Every 
child is but a sacred trust — a responsibility, than which 
there is none more mighty or fearful in life. u Train up 
this child for Me. I will require him at thy hands," says 
our Maker to every parent who receives a child. Judg- 
ing by the declaration of inspiration, " Train up a child 
in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not 
depart from it," how many of our present men and wo- 
men were trained up in that way ; and what kind of an 
account will have to be given by their parents ? 

The Intelligencer, in speaking of French immorality, 
finds " the root of all evil " in the lack of painstaking 
with children. It says further : In view of these facts, 
the duty of Christian parents becomes more and more a 
subject of the deepest concern. A family in which 
children are reared who have the fear of God in their 
hearts, is a blessing to the land; and if the families of 
the church are to be of this character, there must be a 
return to the discarded truths which used to be regarded 
as of the first importance in relation to the training of 
the youth of our country. 

If you find an error in a child's mind, follow it up till 
he is rid of it Repeat and fix attention on the exact 
error, until it can never be committed again. One clear 
and distinct idea is worth a world of misty ones. Time 
is of no consequence in comparison to the object. Give 
the child possession of one clear, distinct truth and it be- 
comes to him a center of light. In all your teaching — 
no matter what time it takes — never leave your pupil till 
you know he has in his mind your exact thought. In 
all explanations to your child, — and you will find in- 
numerable explanations called for, — be patient and con- 
siderate, and leave no sense of vagueness behind, neither 
a repressive influence. 



84 CHILDHOOD. 

Do not command children under six years of age to 
keep anything secret, not even the pleasure you may be 
preparing as a surprise for a dear friend. The cloudless 
heaven of youthful openheartedness should not be over- 
cast, not even by the rosy dawn of shyness ; otherwise, 
children will soon learn to conceal their own secrets as 
well as yours. 

We desire to enter a protest against the fashion among 
many mothers, of referring their children to " father," in 
matters that require the exercise of judgment and dis- 
cretion. Of course it is the essence of folly for parents 
to discuss such matters before their children. What we 
mean to say is, that the equal sovereignty of parents 
should be an unquestioned thing in the minds of children. 
There should be no such thing as an appeal from the de- 
cisions of the one to the other with hope of a reversal of 
judgment. Mothers who evade such duty, not only de- 
preciate their own value in the eyes of their children, 
but serve to weaken and render valueless the judgment 
and wisdom of women in general, in the estimation of 
both their sons and daughters. Women, by some " hocus 
pocus" of inheritance or custom, often feel suspicious of 
the excellence of their own judgment, and are prone to 
appeal to men for ultimate decisions. In the "long run" 
of affairs, the judgment of women is really superior to 
that of men. The difference lies in the conscience and 
the decisive qualities. In the management and training 
of children, a faulty decision now and then, is not so fatal 
in result, as a continually wavering and negative manner. 
Do not infer from this, that all matters pertaining to 
children should be decided at once, and never deviated 
from. There are many times when a child should be 
allowed to plead his own cause, and parents can never 
be too sympathetic with their children. A lack of it, 
constitutes the direct griefs of childhoo 

A sagacious observer says: — "When I see children 
going to their father for comfort, I am sure there is some- 
thing wrong with their mother." 

The great artist, Benjamin West, said, " A kiss from 
my mother made me a painter." We give the anecdote 



CHILDHOOD. 85 

referred to : — " A little boy named Benjamin West, living 
in Pennsylvania, was set to watch a baby asleep in a 
cradle. He looked at it kindly, and felt pleased to see 
it smile in its sleep. He wished that he could draw a 
picture of the baby ; and seeing a piece of paper on a 
table with pen and ink, he tried what he could do. When 
his mother came in he begged her not to be angry with 
him for touching the pen, ink, and paper ; and then he 
showed her the picture he had made. His mother saw 
baby's likeness, and was so much pleased that she kissed 
her little boy. Then he said if she liked it he would 
make a picture of some flowers she held in her hand ; and 
so he went on from that time trying to do better and 
better, until he became one of the best painters in the 
world." In after-life he said it was this kiss from his 
mother that made him an artist. 

Men often speak of breaking the will of a child ; but 
it seems to me they had better break its neck. The will 
needs regulating, not destroying. I should as soon think 
of breaking the legs of a horse in training him, as a 
child's will. I never yet heard of a will in itself too strong, 
more than of an arm too mighty, or a mind too compre- 
hensive in its grasp, or too powerful in its hold. I would 
discipline and develop the will into harmonious propor- 
tions. The instruction of a child should be such as to 
animate, inspire and train, but not to hew, cut and carve ; 
for I could always treat a child as a live tree, which was 
to be helped to grow ; never as dry, dead timber, to be 
carved into this or that shape, and have certain grooves 
cut in it. A living tree, and not dead timber, is every 
little child. 

The late Dr. Henry Ware, when once asked by a parent 
to draw up a set of rules for the government of children, 
replied by an anecdote : "Dr. Hitchcock," he said, " was 
settled in Sandwich ; and when he made his first exchange 
with the Plymouth minister, he must needs pass through 
the Plymouth Woods — a nine miles' wilderness, where the 
travelers almost always got lost, and frequently came 
out at the point they 'started from. Dr. H, on entering 
this much dreaded labyrinth, met an old woman, and 



86 CHILDHOOD. 

asked her to give him some directions for getting through 
the woods so as to fetch up at Plymouth rather than 
Sandwich. l Certainly/ she said, ' I will tell you all 
about it, with the greatest pleasure. You will just keep 
right on till you get some ways into the woods, and you 
will come to a place where several roads branch off. Then 
you must stop and consider, and take the one that seems 
to you most likely to bring you out right.' He did so, 
and came out right." Dr. Ware added, " I have followed 
the worthy and sensible old lady's advice in bringing 
up my children. I do not think anybody can do better ; 
at any rate, I cannot." Good common sense, doubtless, 
is often better than all set rules ; but the thing is to 
have it. 

" The first thing I remember my mother's teaching 
me," I heard a bachelor say not long since, " was never 
to ask anybody to do a thing for me that I could do for 
myself, and above all things learn to wait on myself." 
It was a humanitarian gospel to inculcate. It is just as 
much a mother's duty to teach her boys to hang up their 
hats, put their boots away, brush their coats, and wait 
upon themselves as much as possible, as it is to teach 
them the "Lord's Prayer," or u Now I lay me down to 
sleep." 

An interrogation point symbolizes the life of childhood. 
" Why " and " What " are the keys with which it unlocks 
the treasury of the world. The boy's numberless ques- 
tions often seem trivial, but the wise parent will never 
turn them off unanswered if he can help it. It is his rich 
opportunity of teaching. He is met half way, and there 
is all the difference between impressing truth on an eager 
mind and an uninterested one. The little fellow, help- 
ing you at your work and speering vou with endless 
questions, may learn as much in a half hour there as in a 
week when his body is a prisoner in a school-room and 
his thoughts are out of doors. 

It is by coming in contact with people that we im- 
prove ; we must see life as it really is. We cannot con- 
cur in the opinion that young children ought to see only 
that which is pure and good. They must meet the world 



CHILDHOOD. 87 

as it is, and meet it when young. They must have the 
opportunity to compare. Comparison is a great power 
in the formation of character. A young lady that has 
seen nothing of real life, and only knows what she has 
heard and read, is greatly astonished when she meets the 
distinguished men and women of any country. They are 
not equal to her standard. Young people may be made 
better by contact with that which is not so good. In- 
stead of falling themselves, they should try to make the 
bad good. To be thrown in early life among all classes 
and conditions of people ought to be esteemed an advan- 
tage rather than a misfortune. The people from whom 
we can obtain the most sensible, the truest and wisest 
views of life, are found among those who struggle for an 
existence. No one can truly understand life unless he 
has suffered. A truly wise mother might justly be dis- 
tressed if her child never knew grief. 

In the education of children we should observe and 
conform to the natural order of the development of their 
powers and faculties, physical, mental and moral. Nature 
suggests the true method of education. The early years 
of a child should be sacred to physical growth and de- 
velopment. To force out the intellectual faculties before 
they begin normally to show themselves, is unnatural, 
and fraught with much danger, not only to the physical 
health, but to the mental organism of the child. A pre- 
cocious child is in some sort a monstrosity, and evinces 
a premature and unhealthy mental development, which 
soon reaches a culmination, when it reacts or recoils, and 
the child either dies or its mental powers become paral- 
yzed or stagnate, and it rarely ever afterward rises above 
mediocracy. When their impulsations are to play, let 
them romp and play. Their genius, their ingenuity, 
their native wit and perceptions, and their true affec- 
tions, are brought out and educated in their innocent 
plays and pastimes, better than by any other mode. 

We like mischievous children, and for this reason — 
they are apt to make old men. Good boys generally die 
in their fifth year; not because they are good, but because 
their habits make them strangers to mud-puddles and. 



88 CHILDHOOD. 

oxygen, dirt-pies and out-door exercise. When a friend 
tells us he has a little child who "never wants to leave 
his books," the knob of his front door immediately be- 
comes an object of interest to us; we know, as if we were 
blessed with fore-knowledge, that in less than a year a 
strip of black crape will be throwing a shade across his 
door- way that time will never eradicate. 

Give children a sound moral and literary education — 
useful learning for sails, and integrity for ballast — set 
them afloat upon the sea of life, and their voyage will be 
prosperous in the best sense of the word. 

The deportment of the older children of the family is 
of great importance to the younger. Their obedience, 
or insubordination, operates throughout the whole cir- 
cle. Especially is the station of the eldest daughter one 
of eminence. She drank the first draught of a mother's 
love. She usually enjoys much of her counsel and com- 
panionship. In her absence, she is the natural viceroy. 
Let the mother take double pains to inform her on a cor- 
rect model : to make her amiable, diligent, domestic, 
pious — trusting that the image of those virtues may leave 
impressions on the soft, waxen hearts of the younger 
ones, to whom she may, in the providence of God, be 
called to fill the place of maternal guide. 

No one feels the death of a child as a mother feels it, 
The father cannot feel it thus. True, there is a vacancy 
in his home and a heaviness in his heart. There is a chain 
of association that at set times comes round with a broken 
link — there are memories of endearment, a keen sense of 
loss, a weeping over crushed hopes, and a pain of wound- 
ed affection. But the mother feels that one has been 
taken away who was still closer to her heart. Hers has 
been the office of constant ministration. Every gradu- 
ation of feature developed before her eyes ; she detected 
every new gleam of infant intelligence ; she heard the 
first utterance of every stammering word; she was the 
refuge of its fears, the supply of its wants ; and every 
task of affection wove a new link, and made dear to her 
its object. And when her child dies, a portion of her 
.own life as it were dies with it. How can she give her 



CHILDHOOD. 89 

darling up, with all these living memories, these fond 
associations ? The timid hands that have so often taken 
in trust and love, how can she fold them on its sinless 
breast, and surrrender them to Death ? The feet whose 
wanderings she watched so narrowly, how can she see 
them straightened to go down into the dark valley ? The 
head that she had pressed to her lips and bosom, that she 
has watched in peaceful slumber and in burning sickness, 
a hair of which she could not see harmed, oh, how can 
she consign it to the dark chamber of the grave? It 
w^as a gleam of sunshine and a voice of perpetual glad- 
ness in her home; she had learned from it blessed les- 
sons of simplicity, sincerity, purity, faith ; it had unsealed 
within her a gushing, never-ebbing tide of affection; 
when suddenly it was taken away, and that home is left 
dark and silent ; and to the vain and heart-rending aspi- 
ration, " Shall that dear child never return again ?" there 
breaks in response, through the cold gray silence, "Never- 
more — oh, nevermore!" The heart is like a forsaken 
mansion, and that word goes echoing through its deso- 
late chambers. And yet fond Mother! ("Time brings 
such wonderous easing,") thou wilt in after years look 
back, with a not unpleasing sadness, even upon this scene 
of grief: 

Thou'lt say : " My first born blessing, 
It almost broke my heart 
When thou wert forced to go ; 
And yet for thee I know 
'Twas better to depart. 

God took thee in His mercy, 
A. lamb untasked, untried ; 

He fought the fight for thee, 

He won the victory, 
And thou art sanctified. 

I look around and see 
The evil ways of men ; 

And oh, beloved child, 

I'm more than reconciled 
To thy departure then. 

The little hands that clasped me • 
The innocent lips that pressed, 

Would they have been as pure 

Till now as when of yore 
I lulled thee on my breast?" 



90 BOYHOOD. 

And, in this spirit, and with this faith the affections of 
that bereaved mother will reach out after her little one ; 
follow it into the unseen and spiritual world which will 
become a great and vivid reality to her. Its atmosphere 
will be around her; cords of affection will draw her to- 
wards it, the face of her departed one will look out from 
it ; and she will ever more think of her child as not lost, 
but gone before. 



BOYHOOD. 

The beau ideal of boyhood is some where between 
eight and twelve — though it exists before and after that 
age — but when within those years, it is invested with its 
greatest charm. Then is the first spring of intelligence, 
when all that meets the eye and the ear creates its due 
wonder. Then the feelings are tender, and there is yet 
just so much sweet natural helplessness as serves to keep 
ever warm and active our affection, by demand upon our 
care, and to engender a reliance upon us, the source of 
mutual delight. 

Boys are gregarious creatures, and when in troops, 
having confidence in themselves and in each other, they 
are all noise and sport. 

" Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
As only boyhood can." 

But when quite alone, even in their most delightful idle- 
ness, sauntering and loitering, by green lanes, or village 
highways, they show no signs of mirth. Watch them 
unseen, and you will find the lips apart, the eye inquir- 
ing ; there is then a look that might be mistaken for pen- 
sive, but it is not that, nor is it easy to define ; it is, how- 
ever, singularly expressive of happiness, the result of 
sensibility and intuitive perception. 

What shall we do with boys ? What shall parents do 
who live in towns and cities ? What shall professional 
men do whose children cannot participate in their par- 
ent's work ? Instead of keeping them anxiously within 
doors, thrust them out as much as possible. Do not let 
watching become spying. Let children have sports and 



BOYHOOD. 91 

companions, and unwatched liberty. Put them upon 
their honor. Boys will early respond to this. Do not 
make too much of their mistakes and faults. How can 
one be a child and not be full of faults ? Explain their 
mistakes gently. Be patient! Wait for them! Children 
must have time to grow. Somebody had to wait for you. 
Never let fear make a gulf between the child and you. 
Within due bounds liberty is the best thing for a child, 
as it is for a man. It will lead to irregularities, but out 
of these will come experience, and, gradually, self-con- 
trol. The object of all family government is to teach 
children to get along without being governed. They 
must therefore be trusted ; even if they abuse it, they 
must be trusted. Keep them busy with pleasant work, 
if possible. Awaken in them curiosity about the things 
which lie around them. A very little instruction will 
make children curious of plants, minerals, natural history, 
of literary curiosities, autographs, postage-stamp collec- 
tions, and a thousand things which will inspire pleasure 
in their reason rather than in their appetites. 

Never scold children, but soberly and quietly reprove. 
Do not employ shame except in extreme cases. The 
suffering is acute ; it hurts self-respect in the child to re- 
prove a child before the family ; to ridicule it, to tread 
down its feelings ruthlessly, is to wake in its bosom ma- 
lignant feelings. A child is defenceless ; he is not allowed 
to argue. He is often tried, condemned, and executed 
in a second. He finds himself of little use. He is put at 
things he don't care for, and withheld from things which 
he does like. He is made the convenience of grown-up 
people ; is hardly supposed to have any rights, except in 
a corner, as it were ; is sent hither and thither ; made to 
get up or sit down for everybody's convenience but his 
own ; is snubbed and catechised until he learns to dodge 
government and elude authority, and then be whipped 
for being " such a liar that no one can believe you." 

Girls may have the hardest time of it in after-life, but 
for the first fifteen years boys are the sufferers. 

Does it not seem as if in some houses there is actually 
no place for the boys ? We do not mean the little boys 



92 BOYHOOD. 

— there is always room for theni ; — they are petted and 
caressed ; there is a place for them on papa's knee and 
at mother's footstool, if not in her arms ; — there are loving 
words, and many, often too many, indulgences. But the 
class we speak of now are the school-boys, great noisy, 
romping fellows, who tread on your dress, and upset your 
work-basket, and stand in your light, and whistle and 
drum in your ears, and shout, and ask questions and con- 
tradict. So what is to be done with them ? Do they 
not want to be loved and cherished now as dearly as they 
were in that well-remembered time, when they were little 
ones, and were indulged, petted and caressed. But they 
are so noisy, and they wear out the carpets with their 
thick boots, and it is so quiet when they are gone, say 
the tired mother, and the fastidious sister, and the ner- 
vous aunt; "anything for peace sake," and so away go 
the boys to "loaf" on street corners, and listen to the 
profane and coarse language of wicked men, or to the 
unsafe ice, or to the railroad station, or the wharves, or 
the other common places of rendezvous of those who 
have nothing to do or no place to stay. 

But it is argued there are few boys who care to stay in 
the house after school, and it is better they should play 
in the open air — all of which is true. We argue for those 
days and stormy days and evenings, all evenings, in which 
they wish to stay in, or ought to be kept in, in which if 
kept in they make themselves and everybody else uncom- 
fortable. We protest against the usages of those homes 
where the mother is busy with her sewing or her baby, 
and the father is absorbed with the newspaper in the 
evening which he never reads aloud, and the boys must 
" sit still and not make a noise" or go immediately to bed. 
They hear the merry voices of other boys in the streets 
and long to join them; home is a dull place; they will 
soon be a little older, and then, say they, " we will go 
out and see for ourselves what there is outside which we 
are forbidden to enjoy." We protest against the usages 
of those homes where the boys are driven out because 
their presence is unwelcome, and are scolded when they 
come in, or checked, hushed and restrained at every out-, 
burst of merriment. 



BOYHOOD. 93 

Those mothers who live in the country, and whose 
children range the woods and fields, and skate on the 
glittering pond, for whom the house is wide and there is 
room enough and to spare, can have little idea of the 
embarrassments of a family of medium or limited means, 
who are struggling to bring up a number of children in 
a narrow city house, and surrounded by city temptations. 
It is to these most especially that our attention is turned, 
and it is for the children of these that we would plead. 
If the worn, and weary, and anxious mother, as she looks 
at her little boys on the floor or at her knee, or sighs 
that she shall so soon be unable to keep them there, will 
only extend a little further on into their lives the self- 
denial she so heroically practices now, she will not lose 
her reward. If the sister who is shocked at the rudeness 
of her young brothers, will but join sometimes in their 
games, listen to their stories, sympathize in their interests 
and pursuits, she will gain an influence over them which 
will enable her to win them into gentleness and noble- 
ness — not suddenly nor at once, but by degrees leading 
them up unconsciously into higher and holier paths. 

The parents may do well who carefully lay up money 
for their children, educate them at school, and set them 
up in business ; but they do infinitely better who never 
suffer the love that warmed the cradle side to grow cold, 
who lay aside their own comfort and convenience to make 
home attractive to their sons, and send them out to fight 
the battle of life, armed with the panoply of firm princi- 
ples, and warmed and invigorated by the cherishing love 
whose vigils began at the cradle and will only end at the 
grave. 

An intelligent and thrifty farmer says : — But for the 
co-operation of my boys I should have failed. I worked 
hard, and so did they. The eldest is twenty-one, and 
other boys in the neighborhood, younger, have left their 
parents ; mine have stuck to me when I most needed 
their services. I attribute this result to the fact that I 
have tried to make home pleasant for them. 

Many a boy ruins his character and wrecks all his hopes 
by misemploying the evening hours. School or business 



94 BOYHOOD. 

has confined him all the day, and the rebound with which 
his elastic nature throws these duties off, carries him often 
unawares beyond the limits both of propriety and pru- 
dence. Besides the impetuous gush of spirits whose 
buoyancy has been thus confined, there are influences 
peculiar to the time which render the evening a period 
of special temptation. Satan knows that its hours are 
leisure ones for the multitude, and then, if ever, is he 
zealous to secure their services; warily planning that 
unexpected fascinations may give an attractive grace to 
sin, and unparalleled facilities smooth the path to ruin. 
Its shadows are a cloak which he persuades the young 
will fold with certain concealment around every error, 
in seductive whispers telling them, u It is the black and 
dark night, come." How many thus solicited to come, 
" as a bird hastening to the snare, knowing not that it is 
for their lives," let the constantly recurring instances of 
juvenile depravity testify. Parents acknowledge the 
evil here pointed out, and anxiously inquire, u What is 
to be done? can we debar our children from every amuse- 
ment?" Boys themselves confess it, but plead, in reply 
to the remonstrances of friends, "that evening is their 
only time, and that they must have some sport." It is 
certainly very proper that the young should have amuse- 
ment. None better than ourselves are pleased to hear 
the lips of childhood eloquent with the exclamation, 
" Oh ! we have had lots of fun." It seems like our own 
voice coming back in echo to us from out a long lapsed 
past. These amusements should, however, be innocent ; 
and innocent amusements are most easily secured and 
enjoyed at home. Here parental sympathy may sweeten 
the pleasures, and parental care check the evils of play, 
frequently intermingling its incidents with lessons of in- 
struction. If parents would use half the assiduity to ren- 
der an evening spent at home agreeable, that Satan 
employs to win to haunts of vice, they would oftentimes 
escape the grief occasioned by filial misdeeds, and secure 
a rich reward in having their children's maturity adorned 
by many virtues. 

Spend your evening hours, boys, at home. You may 






BOYHOOD. 95 



make them among the most agreeable and profitable of 
your lives, and when vicious companions would tempt 
you away, remember that God has said, " Cast not in thy 
lot with them ; walk thou not in their way ; refrain thy 
foot from their path. They lay in wait for their own 
blood ; they lurk privily for their own lives. But walk 
thou in the way of good men, and keep the paths of the 
righteous." 

A boy may be spoiled about as easily as a girl, by 
injudicious training ; no, we will take that back — much 
easier. In the first place, then, by leading him to depend 
upon his sisters. Who has not seen the spoiled boy in 
the man who could not tie his dickey without calling his 
wife from the breakfast table to help him ; or put on his 
coat without she held the sleeves ; or get a drop of hot 
water when the kettle was right before him ? Another 
way to spoil a boy is to pick up after him. Now that's 
a thing we wouldn't do (begging pardon of the gentle- 
man) for the President. We hold that there is as much 
need of neat habits in a boy, as in the gentler sex ; and 
this idea of gathering the coat from the sofa, the vest 
from the rocking-chair, the boots from the hearth-rug, 
the collar from under the table, and the neck-cloth from 
nobody knows where — is perfectly and superlatively 
ridiculous. Again, why is the boy allowed to use coarse, 
indelicate expressions, that, from the lips of a girl would 
call forth well-merited rebuke ? Should the mind of the 
man be made of coarse material because he is expected 
to jostle his way through the rude elements of human 
nature ? That is not the law of the machinist who con- 
trols dumb matter. Though one engine may be ponder- 
ous and massive, destined for the roughest work, and 
another delicate and complicated, there is the same 
smoothness of material in both — the same polish, the same 
nice finish. A boy will most surely be spoiled if led to 
think he can commit offences against morals, which by 
the parents are considered only masculine — not criminal. 
Another wrong thing is to bring a boy up for a pro- 
fession, will he, nill he. Some parents have a respectable 
horror for dirt, and cannot think of soiled hands and a 



96 BOYHOOD. 

trade with any degree of complacency. Therefore the 
world is burdened with burdens to themselves, in the 
shape of lawyers, doctors, etc., who are too poor to live, 
and too poor to die — in comfort. Finally, the surest 
way to spoil a boy is not to instil into his very soul, from 
the time he is an infant, a true reverence for woman; a 
regard for her virtue as sacred as the love he bears his 
mother. Never let her name be trifled with in his pres- 
ence, or her actions interpreted loosely, else you may 
hereafter share the disgrace of having given to the world 
a curse more corrupting than that of all others — a heart- 
less libertine. 

We love to see boys happy. We well remember our 
school-days — how the joyful scenes of those golden hours 
rise before us as we write. After a long a labored ses- 
sion of school, what is finer for boys than a good frolic 
on the green grass ? See them ! — they hop and run, and 
toss their hats and balls; every bone and cord and 
muscle of their young and active frames is brought into 
full and vigorous play. Their minds are unpent as well 
as their bodies. Let boys have exercise. They must 
have it, and a good deal too ; and they must have the 
right kind, or they will become sickly and dwarfish, their 
minds feeble, and their feelings peevish and fretful. The 
open air, and the more free and pure the better, is impor- 
tant to good exercise to any one, but especially the boys. 
Otherwise they will be pale and weak, as a plant doomed 
to the shade. They must have exercise which makes 
them forget themselves, and all their troubles and tasks, 
and throws the mind and heart into a glow of life and 

Boyhood needs its discipline of care as well as man- 
hood. Young shoulders, however, should not carry the 
load of old, and grow prematurely bowed. Give the 
boys something that suits their time of life, though it seem 
boy's play by their elders. They are just released from 
the confinement of the winter school and need a pleasant 
change. The excitement of sugar-making comes just in 
time, and let the boys have a chance. What gala days 
these are for them among the maples. How the young 



BOYHOOD. 97 

blood leaps in their veins and flushes their cheeks while 
the sap is mounting and running and exhaling its maple 
odors. Now, too, the calves and lambs and pigs are 
coming into the world, and how naturally the boys take 
to them. The barn just now is a good school for first 
lessons in stock-raising and kindness to animals, and the 
boys here are their own best teachers. Then they can 
be fitting up the dove cotes and martin boxes and chicken 
coops, making nests satisfactory for the setting hens and 
getting things ready, generally for the new comers. Boys 
need only to have the yoke fitted to their years, and they 
will hardly feel easy without it. 

Every man who can afford it should supply his boys 
with tools, and a room where they may be used and cared 
for. A boy takes to tools as naturally as to green apples, 
or surreptitious and forbidden amusements ; and ten to 
one if he has a chance to develop his mechanical tastes 
and gratify them to their full extent, his tendencies to 
vicious courses will remain undeveloped. Such a result 
is enough to compensate for all the expense and trouble 
the indulgence we recommend would entail ; while the 
chances that the early development of his constructive 
faculties may in this mechanical age be the means by 
which he may ultimately climb to fame and fortune are 
not small. Yes, give them tools — not merely the need- 
ful implements for cultivating the garden, but give them 
a few good carpenter's tools, with a bench on which to 
use them. Let their first attempt be upon a chest in 
which to keep the saw, hammer, bit- stock, and bits, 
planes, square, rule, chisels, gimlets, awl, screw-driver, 
etc., with separate hand box to set in, containing apart- 
ments for screws, and different sized nails and brads ; let 
the middle partition of the box be a high board, having 
a convenient handle cut out of the top to carry it by. 
The next attempt may be on a house or clothes chest, 
regularly dove-tailed together, and provided with a "till" 
at one or both ends. Our "blue chest," made while a 
small boy, will ever remain as one of the household trea- 
sures. A handsled, set of trucks or wheel-barrow will 
soon follow, after which the more useful farm implements, 

7 



98 BOYHOOD. 

such as axe, hoe, or fork handles may be readily made, or 
sundry carpenter jobs attended to, such as putting new 
shingles or siding on the house, setting glass, making and 
attaching water gutters to the eaves, etc. We could 
mention instances where persons without serving an ap- 
prenticeship, but with a fondness for and readiness in 
handling tools which frequent use begets, have constructed 
most of the implements on the farm, not excepting the 
ox- cart and hay wagon. Others have built a barn, 
finished off rooms in the house, painted the buildings 
outside and inside, doing the work at a leisure time when 
there was little else requiring attention. Therefore we 
say again, give the boys a set of tools to amuse themselves 
with, and the money will be well invested. 

Many a rich man, in bringing up his son, seems ambi- 
tious of making what Aaron made — A golden calf. 

Parents do wrong in keeping their children hanging 
around home, sheltered and enervated by parental indul- 
gence. The eagle does better. It stirs up its nest when 
the young eaglets are able to fly. They are compelled 
to shift for themselves, for the old eagle literally turns 
them out, and at the same time tears all the down and 
feathers from the nest. 'Tis this rude and rough experi- 
ence that makes the king of birds so fearless in his flight, 
and so expert in the pursuit of prey. It is a misfortune 
to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth, for you 
have it to carry and plague you all your days. Riches 
often hang like a dead weight, yea like a millstone about 
the necks of ambitious young men. Had Benjamin 
Franklin or George Law been brought up in the lap of 
affluence and ease, they would probably never have been 
heard of by the world at large. It was the making of 
the one that he ran away, and of the other that he was 
turned out doors. Early thrown upon their own resources 
they acquired the energy and skill to overcome resist- 
ance, and to grapple with the difficulties that beset their 
pathway. And here I think they learned the most im- 
portant lesson of their lives — a lesson that developed 
their manhood — forcing upon them Necessity, the most 
useful and inexorable of masters. There is nothing like 



BOYHOOD. 99 

"being bound out, turned out, or even kicked out, to compel 
a man to do for himself. Rough handling of the last sort 
has often made drunken men sober. Poor boys, though 
at the foot of the hill, should remember that every step 
they take towards the goal of wealth and honor gives 
them increased energy and power. They have a purchase, 
and obtain a momentum, the rich man's son never knows. 
The poor man's son has the furthest to go, but without 
knowing it he is turning the longest lever, and that with 
the utmost vim and vigor. Boys, do not sigh for the 
capital or indulgence of the rich, but use the capital you 
have — I mean those GoD-given powers which every 
healthy youth of good habits has in and of himself. All 
a man wants in this life is a skillful hand, a well informed 
mind, and a good heart. In our happy land, and in these 
favored times of Libraries, Lyceums, Liberty, Religion 
and Education, the humblest and poorest can aim at the 
greatest usefulness, and the highest excellence, with a 
prospect of success that calls forth all the endurance, per- 
severance and industry that is in man. 

To the boy, the world beyond immediate surroundings 
is only a picture. He does not know how real are the 
sorrows, the passions, the ambitions of men. His sports, 
his lessons, his home life are alone real. But there will 
come a change. Like a stereoscopic picture before it is 
put into the stereoscope, the life of men has no body or 
reality ; but when the boy awakens, as with the picture 
within the instrument, so with him a solidity and natu- 
ralness will be acquired by the external world, and he 
will feel that it is his henceforth to live and move amongst 
these grander and graver forms. Many mistakes will be 
committed, the very earnestness of his new conceptions 
will hurry him into extravagances and generous errors ; 
but if there is truth in his nature, and nobleness in his 
spirit, just views will be formed and the day in which 
is given him to work will find him not unmindful of the 
responsibility which arises from a knowledge of the 
coming fight. 

What will he become ? 

This question is often asked by parents in regard to 



100 BOYHOOD. 

their sons, and by friends of many young men. And 
although there is no definite rules ascertaining, we may 
get some idea of what a young man will become by ob- 
serving his first action and works. Solomon said, many 
centuries ago, "even a child is known by his work, 
whether it be good or whether it be evil." Therefore, 
when you see. a boy slow to go to school, indifferent to 
learning, and glad of every opportunity to neglect his 
lessons, you may take it for granted that he will be a 
blockhead. When you see a boy anxious to spend money, 
and who spends every cent as soon as he gets it, you 
may know that he will be a spendthrift When you see 
a boy hoarding up his pennies, and unwilling to part 
with them for any good purpose, you may set it down 
that he will be a miser. . When you see a little boy wil- 
ling to taste strong drink, you may rightly suppose that 
he will become a drunkard. When a boy is disrespect- 
ful to his parents, disobedient to his teacher, and unkind 
to his friends and playmates, it is a sign he will never be 
of much account. When you see a boy looking out for 
himself, and unwilling to share good things with others, 
it is a sign that he will grow up a selfish man. When 
you hear a boy using profane language, you may take it 
for a sign that he will become a wicked and profligate 
man. When you see boys rude to each other, you may 
know they will become disagreeable men. When you 
see boys pouting and grumbling, when told to do any- 
thing, and always seem depressed when they have any 
work to perform, it is a sign that they will be good-for- 
nothing men. When you see boys that are kind and 
obliging to each other, obedient and respectful to their 
parents, attentive to their studies and duties, it is a sign 
that they will become good and useful men. When you 
see a boy that loves his Bible, and is well acquainted 
with it, it is a sign of great future blessing from Almighty 
God. When you see a boy that stays away from theatres, 
grog-shops, ball-rooms and gambling houses, it is a sign 
that he will grow up a man in principle, knowledge 
and goodness. When you see a boy practising the vir- 
tues of morality and Christianity, you may know that 



BOYHOOD. 101 

he will become an honor to himself and family, useful to 
his country, and a glory to his Maker. Although great 
changes sometimes take place in the character, these 
signs, as a general rule, hold good. 

Our daughters are constitutionally more marked by 
sensibility, and our sons are more marked by willful- 
ness. The consequence is that we are more anxious 
what will happen to our daughters, and what will happen 
from our sons — the daughter's sensitiveness exposing her 
to receive harm, and the son's willfulness exposing him 
to do harm. We are not wise to quarrel with Nature, 
and we must expect that boys will be more noisy and 
mischievous, than girls ; nay, we may count it a good 
sign of a lad's force of character if there is a good share 
of aggressive, fun-loving pluck in his composition. Well 
managed, his animal spirits will give him all the more 
manly loyalty, and when true to the right cause, he will 
be all the more true ; because so much living sap has 
gone up into the fruit of his obedience. Yet what is 
more sad than force of will perverted to base uses, and 
the strength of manhood sunk into service of base lusts 
or fiendish passions ? 

The resources of childhood are nearly inexhaustible. 
Nobody else on this planet is so ingenious in inventing 
fun as a rollicking boy. His resources in this respect 
are as original as inexhaustible. In coming down Rail- 
road street the other day we had an illustration. A boy 
of ten years was walking before us with legs that would 
comport with the body of Daniel Lambert. We looked 
at him in amazement. u Son, what is the matter with 
your legs?" "Nothing. My legs are bunkum. Just 
see 'em walk." And he waddled off like a duck. " Whafc 
distends your breeches so ?" "Sand, sir," said he, with 
a hearty laugh. True enough, the boy had tied his 
pants with strings at the bottom, as is done in deep 
snow, and filled them to the waist with sand. We walked 
away ruminating upon the vast resources of boyhood to 
inaugurate a little fun. Happy boyhood ! It's a pity 
that adult life cannot command as much philosophy. 
A boy not fond of fun and frolic may possibly make 
a tolerable man, but he is an intolerable boy. 



102 YOUTH. 

Vivacity in youth is often mistaken for genius, and 
stolidity for dullness. 

It is ruinous to the young to demand of them more 
than you are quite sure that they can accomplish with 
moderate industry. 

When you see a ragged urchin 

Standing wistful in the street, 
With torn hat and kneeless trowsers, 

Dirty face and bare red feet, 
Pass not by the child unheeding ; 

Smile upon him. Mark me, when 
He's grown, he'il not forget it ; 

For, remember, boys make men. 

When the buoyant youthful spirits 

Overflow in boyish freak, 
Chide your child in gentle accents ; 

Do not in your anger speak ; 
You must sow in youthful bosoms 

Seeds of tender mercy ; then 
Plants will grow and bear good fruitage 

When the erring boys are men. 

Have you never seen a grandsire, 

With his eyes aglow with joy, 
Bring to mind some act of kindness — 

Something said to him, a boy ? 
Or relate some slight or coldness, 

With a brow as clouded, when 
He said they were too thoughtless 

To remember boys made men. 

Let us try to add come pleasure 

To the life of every boy ; 
For each child needs tender interes*. 

In its sorrow and its joy. 
Call your boys home by its brightness ; 

They avoid a gloomy den, 
And seek for comfort elsewhere ; 

And, remember, boys make men. 



YOUTH. 

Ages upon ages ago the tide was out, and the muddy 
beach lay smooth as this sheet of paper before me. A 
cloud passed over the sky, and a shower of big rain or 
hail came down and pitted the mud as thick as leaves 
on trees. A strong wind drove the drops so that the 
impressions were a little one-sided. They had written 
their short history as plain as my pen can write ; and 



YOUTH. 103 

even the direction from which the wind blew w^as re- 
corded. Some great frogs and lizards which used to. 
live there, came hopping over the mud, and left their 
tracks also deeply printed on the shore. By-and-bythe 
great waves came stealing up, and covered the whole 
surface with fine sand, and so the tracks were seen no 
more for ages upon ages. The clay hardened into solid 
rock, and so did the sand ; and after these thousands of 
years had passed away, some masons came upon the 
curious inscription. Men of science, who are skilled in 
reading these stony leaves of God's great book, read as 
plainly as if they had been present, the story of that 
passing shower. It had been written on the softest clay, 
but it was read on solid rock. So your hearts to-day 
are like the soft clay. Everything stamps them, but 
the stamps are not so easy to remove. They will be 
there when you are grown up to be a man or woman. 
0, what deep, dark prints the bad words of evil associ- 
ates make ! But how lovely to recall the record which 
kind and loving actions make upon the soul ! There is 
another place where all our actions are written down, 
which we should never forget. It is the book God 
keeps in heaven. We can never bear to meet that record 
unless we have Jesus Christ for our Saviour. Then we 
shall know that nothing there will appear to condemn 
us. We shall rejoice when God calls us to come and 
appear before Him. 

The pleasures of our youth pass away like music in a 
dream. 

" Avoid in youth, luxurious diet ; 
Restrain the passions lawless riot ; 
Devoted to domestic quiet, 

Be wisely gay ; 
So shall you, spite of age's fiat, 

Resist decay." 

Listen to the advice of your parents; treasure up 
their precepts ; respect their riper judgment ; and en- 
deavor to merit the approbation of the wise and good. 

It is not probable that those who are vicious in youth 
will become virtuous in old age. 

Acquire in youth that you may enjoy in age. 

Such as the youth is, such will, be the man. 



104 TO YOUNG MEN. 

To be good is to be happy is a truth never to be for- 
gotten by those commencing the journey of life. 



TO YOUNG MEN. 

The line of conduct chosen by a young man during 
the five years from fifteen to twenty, will in almost every 
instance, determine his character for life. As he is then 
careful or careless, prudent or imprudent, industrious or 
indolent, truthful or dissimulating, intelligent or ignor- 
ant, temperate or dissolute, so he will be in after years ; 
and it needs no prophet to cast his horoscope, or calcu- 
late his chance in life. 

Young men and boys rarely realize, we fear, how much 
their success in life depends upon their present deport- 
ment. Their conduct is more generally observed than 
they are ready to believe, and frequently discussions take 
place among business and influential men in regard to 
their fitness for places for which young men are wanted, 
of which they never know. 

We were made to think of this the other day, in hear- 
ing one of the best business men, who will have no one 
about him who is not above suspicion, point out half a 
dozen young men whom he would cheerfully and con- 
fidently recommend for any position — however respon- 
sible — that any young man could fill. They are young 
men whose general conduct recommends them. They 
are never seen rowdying about the streets; they are never 
seen hanging about restaurants ; they are never seen 
making themselves conspicuous by boisterous behavior ; 
they are never seen "taking a state," with a cigar in the 
mouth, and the hat cocked to one side of the head ; they 
are never heard shocking the moral sensibilities of decent 
people by profane or indecent language; in short they 
have none of the characteristics of self-indulging loafer 
or rowdy. They are the pride of their parents, aiid an 
honor to the community in which they live, and destined 
to be the leading men of the country. All young men 



TO YOUNG MEN. 105 

should be ambitious to have such reputations, so that 
when positions of trust are to be filled, their friends can, 
with confidence recommend them. 

Young man, look up ! See what your associates are 
doing, while as yet you have not even thought of making 
a stir in the world. Are you willing to be thus left 
behind. Look at the many ways before you that lead to 
places of honor and usefulness. Take some single thing, 
on which to spend the talent you have received, and not 
give your mind to a number, to no good purpose. 
Choose a good and honored calling, and with the motto, 
u Excelsior '," follow it. Are your means limited, then so 
much the more will you need extra perseverance. Is 
your opportunity for acquiring knowledge poor, then 
use well that which you possess. Your talent small, talk 
not of that, your talents are dormant. You may be a 
sleeping giant. It is your duty to arouse them into 
action. God has not given you more than you can per- 
form, neither will he withhold from you needed assist- 
ance; all are within your reach, and can be grasped at 
your will. Commence now to live and move for some- 
thing beyond the supplying of your own daily wants, 
that the people may call you blessed. 

It should be the aim of every young man to go into 
good society. We do not mean the rich, the proud and 
fashionable, but the society of the wise, the intelligent, 
and the good. Where you find men that know more 
than you do, and from whose conversation one can gain 
information, it is always safe to be found. It has broken 
down many a man by associating with the low and vul- 
gar, where the ribald song was inculcated, and the inde- 
cent story, to excite laughter, and influence the bad 
passions. Lord Clarendon has attributed success and 
happiness in life to associating with persons more virtuous 
than himself. If you wish to be wise and respected — if 
you desire happiness and not misery, we advise you to 
associate with the intelligent and the good. Strive for 
mental excellence and strict integrity, and you will never 
be found in the sinks of pollution, and on the benches of 
retailers and gamblers. Once habituate yourself to a 



106 TO YOUNG MEN. 

virtuous course — once secure a love of good society, and 
no punishment would be greater than by accident to be 
obliged for half a day to associate with the low and vul- 
gar. 

Keep good company or none. Never be idle. If 
your hands cannot be usefully employed, attend to the 
cultivation of your mind. Always speak the truth. 
Make few promises. Live up to your engagements. 
Keep your own secrets, if you have any. When you 
speak to a person, look him in the face. Good company 
and good conversation are the very sinews of virtue. 
Good character is above all things else. Your character 
cannot be essentially injured except by your own acts. 
If one speak evil of you, let your life be such that none 
will believe him. Drink no kind of intoxicating liquors. 
Always live, misfortune excepted, within your income. 
When you retire to bed, think over what you have been 
doing during the day. Make no haste to be rich if you 
would prosper. Small and steady gains give competen- 
cy with tranquility of mind. Never play at any kind of 
game of chance. Avoid temptation through fear that 
you may not be able to withstand it. Never run into 
debt, unless you see a way to get out again. Never 
borrow if you can possibly avoid it. Never speak evil 
of any one. Be just before you are generous. Keep 
yourself innocent if you would be happy. Save when 
ycu are young to spend when you are old. Never think 
that which you do for religion is time or money mis- 
spent. Always go to meeting when you can. Read 
some portion of the Bible every day. Often think of 
death, and your accountability to God. 

Indeed it may be said that, ordinarily, what a man is at 
thirty-five he will be at fifty, so far as the characteristics 
of eminence are concerned. And this rule will be found 
correct, if applied to our own acquaintances. A man 
pretty clearly reveals what he will be before thirty-five 
years of age. It is true one may have within him the 
elements of success that cannot be fully demonstrated to 
the world for various causes, even as late as this, but he 
will give indubitable proof of the possession of such 



TO YOUNG MEN. 107 

t elements, which in time are to be fully demonstrated. 
I know a man who is very rich now, though he was 
very poor when he was a boy. He said his father taught 
him never to play till all his work for the day was finished, 
and never to spend his money until he had earned it. If 
he had but half an hour's work to do in a day, he was 
taught to do that the first thing, and to do it in half an 
hour. After this was done he could play ; and my young 
friends all know he could play with a great deal more 
pleasure, than he could if he had the thought of his, un- 
finished work still on his mind. He says he early formed 
the habit of doing everything in its season, and it soon 
became perfectly easy for him to do so. It is to this . 
habit that he owes his present prosperity. I am happy 
to add that he delights to do good with his riches. 
Young men be industrious. If you are prodigal of 
time — are indifferent as to what use you make of it, you 
will contract bad habits, of which it will be no easy mat- 
ter to rid yourselves. It is well to look forward to the 
future,, and mark the evils resulting from a lazy, idle life. 
Think of the time when you will begin to act for your- 
selves, in the more trying scenes of after years — think 
what will be your character and reputation then, if you 
now waste your days in trifles and follies. But, if indus- 
try is stamped upon your characters, great will be your 
enjoyment You will not only be respected and beloved, 
but you will never lack for employment. In one pursuit 
or another, you will be constantly engaged, and of course, 
prove to be useful men. On the other hand, if you con- 
tract bad habits — dislike the idea of constant employ- 
ment — you will begin by degrees to be dissatisfied with 
your business, and continually wish for some change. 
You will often be led to say, " My occupation is an un- 
pleasant one, in which I shall never be able to accomplish 
much." With such feelings, you will be dissatisfied with 
everything about your business, and ardently desire to 
make some change, which you will conjecture to be for 
the best. Yo*i will always complain. Nothing will seem 
to go right. Your mind will be filled with unpleasant 
thoughts, and perfect hatred to your business will ensue 



108 TO YOUNG MEN. 

— and the thought of spending all your days about such 
an employment, cannot be endured ; and in an unguarded 
hour you will burst the fetter that seems to bind you — 
and what will be the result ? Instead of feeling that 
happy state of mind which you contemplated, unhappy 
thoughts will distress you, and you will regret the step 
you have taken ; which, unless retraced, may prove your 
ruin. Now all this arises from trifling causes ; a little 
dissatisfaction may make you dilatory — you will associate 
with idle companions, and work yourself into the belief 
that you, of all others, are under the severest restraint. 
Continue to nurture this feeling, and it produces all that 
dissatisfaction which is the prolific source of sorrow and 
misery. Be industrious, then, whatever may be your 
calling or profession, and you will reap the glorious re- 
wards in a life of usefulness and happiness. 

Young men, you are the architects of your own for- 
tunes. Rely upon your own strength of body and soul. 
Take for your motive, self-reliance, honesty and industry ; 
for your star, faith, perseverance and pluck, and inscribe 
on your banner, " Be just and fear not." Don't take too 
much advice ; keep at the helm and steer your own ship. 
Strike out. Think well of yourself. Fire above the 
mark you intend to hit. Assume your position. Don't 
practice excessive humility; you can't get above your 
level, as water don't run up hill— haul potatoes in a cart 
over a rough road, and the small potatoes will go to the 
bottom. Energy, invincible determination, with a right 
motive, are the levers that rule the world. The great 
art of commanding is to take a fair share of the work. 
Civility costs nothing and buys everything. Don't drink ; 
don't swear ; don't gamble ; don't steal ; don't deceive ; 
don't tattle. Be polite ; be generous ; be kind. Study 
hard ; play hard. Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Read 
good books. Love your fellow-men as your God ; love 
your country, and obey the laws ; love virtue; love truth. 
Always do what your conscience tells you to be a duty, 
and leave the consequences with God. 

Not long since, we saw a tear gathering in the eye of 
an old man, as he spoke of the past and the present — 



TO YOUNG MEN. 109 

of the time when he "burned pine knots upon the rude 
home hearth for light to obtain a scanty education, and 
then compared the ten thousand privileges which are now 
scattered broadcast around every door. Oh, said he, in 
tremulous tones, the young men of this day, do not ap- 
preciate the light of the age they live in. The words of 
the old man made us sad, while at the same time, we felt 
mortified that so many of our young men fail to improve 
the advantages within their reach. They are even con- 
tinually muttering about their lot, and pushing for posi- 
tions where they can win the reward without the sweet- 
ening, purifying, ennobling sacrifice of toil. The mist- 
cloud enjoyments of a day, are eagerly sought after, to 
the exclusion or neglect of the more honorable, intellect- 
ual and useful. In truth, few of our young men know 
anything of the value of the privileges around them. 

Thousands of young men are to-day drifting helplessly 
about on the ocean of life, vainly hoping that ere long 
some favorable breeze will spring up and drive their ves- 
sels into some safe harbor. Where that safe harbor is 
they have no idea; because they have no definite object 
in view. They have never decided upon any course of 
life, but permit their actions to be shaped and moulded 
by the circumstances of the hour. Is it any wonder that 
disasters follow each other ? More men are ruined through 
indecision than from a wrong decision. Few men will 
deliberately lay out and pursue a plan of life that will 
ultimately work their ruin. Most young men of the pre- 
sent day enter the great battle of life without any well 
defined system of warfare, and consequently spend their 
best days in aimless pursuits. Indecision is the bane of 
our existence. Could we look into the world of spirits 
we would find but few souls in the dark region of woe 
that had resolved to reach that goal ; nearly all who are 
there, and those who are hastening there, are in their 
present conditions simply because they never decided 
whither they would go, and their indecision has been 
their ruin. 

Never affect to be other than what you are, either 
richer or wiser. Never be ashamed to say "I don't 



110 TO YOUNG MEN. 

know." Never be ashamed to say, whether applied to 
time or money, "I cannot afford it." Once establish 
yourself and your mode of life as what they really are, 
and your foot is on solid ground, whether for the gradual 
step onward or the sudden spring over the precipice. 
From these maxims we may deduce another — learn to 
say "No" with decision, "Yes," with caution—" No" 
with decision, whenever it meets a temptation ; " Yes" 
with caution whenever it implies a promise. A promise 
once given is a bond inviolable. A man is already of 
some consequence in the world when it is known that we 
can implicitly rely upon him. How frequently have we 
seen in life such a man preferred to a long list of appli- 
cants for some important charge ; he has been lifted at 
once into station and fortune merely because he has this 
reputation — that when he says he knows a thing, he 
knows it, and when he says he will do a thing he will do it. 
To a young man from home, friendless and forlorn, in 
a great city, the hours of peril are those between sunset 
and bed time ; for the moon and stars are more evil in a 
single hour than the sun in his whole day's circuit. The 
poet's visions of evening are all composed of tender and 
soothing images. It brings the wanderer to his home, 
the child to its mother's arms, the ox to his stall, and 
the weary laborer to his rest. But to the gentle hearted 
youth who is thrown upon the rocks of a pitiless city, 
and " stands homeless amid a thousand homes," the ap- 
proach of evening brings with it an aching sense of lone- 
liness and desolation, which comes down on the spirit 
like darkness upon the earth. In this mood, his best im- 
pulses become a snare to him, and he is led astray be- 
cause he is social, affectionate, sympathetic and warm- 
hearted. If there be a young man thus circumstanced, 
let me say to him that books are the friends of the friend- 
less, and that a library is the home of the homeless. A 
taste for reading will always carry you to converse with 
men who will instruct you by their wisdom, and charm 
you by their wit, who will soothe you when fretted, re- 
fresh you when weary, counsel you when perplexed, and 
sympathize with you at all times. Evil spirits, in the 



TO YOUNG MEN. Ill 

middle ages, were exorcised and driven away by bell, 
book and candle ; yon want but two of these agents, the 
book and the candle. 

The most important part of the population, as well asi 
the most essential element of the prosperity and great-' 
ness of the city, is the army of young men being trained 
in the work-shops and counting-houses, to take place of 
their fathers in carrying on the great purposes of life. 
To a portion of this hopeful young army, drilling to fight 
the battles of life, I desire to address a few words of en- 
couragement and advice. Many of these young men, 
indeed very often those who make the most successful 
business men, come from the country. It frequently 
happens that an ardent and ambitious youth, fresh from 
the indulgence and applause of an affectionate rural home, 
coming to the city with high and rose-tinted hopes of 
speedily achieving success, becomes chilled and disgusted 
with the dull and prosy reality — the slow and toilsome 
path by patient following of which success may alone be 
reached. Or, he takes offence at the stern but well- 
meant admonitions and counsel of an employer who has 
himself trudged up the rough and self-denying road, and 
retires at once from the contest, blighting forever what 
might have been a useful, honorable and successful career, 
to become a home drudge, the scoff of his neighbors, 
and to .add another to the mournful number of those 
ruined by a fatal mistake in the morning of life. I do 
not pretend to say that there never are causes justifying 
this step, nor that it may not be recovered from ; but 
what I desire to impress on the minds of my youthful 
readers is, that faint-heartedness and shrinking from the 
conflict after the stern reality of the battle has been ex- 
perienced — too well understood, with a pang of regret, 
by many who will read this — is what stems the tide of 
fortune and of fame. To such I would say, with all the 
earnestness of my heart, do not give up ; choke down 
the coward impulses that urge you to fly ; manfully face 
the difficulties that loom up before you, and what appear 
to be grim and disheartening obstacles will dissolve into 
thin air in your firm grasp, and you will smile at your 



112 TO YOUNG MEN. 

causeless fears. Do not take offence at the corrections 
and advice of your employer, even though they should 
sometimes be delivered somewhat sternly, or with a 
touch of admonitory anger. Above all, do not give way 
to sullenness. Be open, frank, honest. If you feel ag- 
grieved at any real or fancied injustice he has done you, 
tell him so in a manly, fearless way, and if he is a man 
whom it will conduce to your welfare to remain with, 
your difficulties will be amicably adjusted, and the sun- 
shine of increased mutual confidence and respect light up 
your pathway. How much better is this than to spend 
days in fits of gloomy anger, giving rise to mutual dis- 
trust and ill-will, that will be certain in time to produce 
a rupture and a severance of your relations as employer 
and employee — an event in which you will be the chief 
sufferer. 

I do not hold, however, that because a man has fought 
his way up to commercial eminence, he is justified in 
being snappish, fault-finding, and insolent to his clerks. 
Quite the contrary. His own experience should rather 
teach him the need of exercising kindness and forbear- 
ance towards those who in years and knowledge are so 
greatly his inferiors, and so sensitive to rebuke. I am 
fully persuaded that the man who is uniformly kind and 
courteous to his employees, will be better and more 
faithfully served than he who treats them as though they 
had no rights which he is bound to respect. 

There is no surer destroyer of youth, privileges, pow- 
ers and delights, — than yielding the spirit to the empire 
of ill-temper and selfishness. We should all be cautious, 
as we advance in life, of allowing occasional sorrowful 
experience to overshadow our perception of the prepon- 
derance of good. Faith in good is at once its own rec- 
titude and reward. To believe good, and to do good, 
truly and trustfully, is the healthiest of humanity's con- 
ditions. To take events cheerfully, and promote the 
happiness of others is the way to ensure the enduring 
spring of existence. Content and kindliness are the soft 
vernal showers and fostering sunny warmth that keep a 
man's nature and being fresh and green. " Lord keep 






TO YOUNG MEN. 113 



my existence fresh and green," would be no less wise a 
prayer than the one so beautifully recorded respecting a 
man's memory. If we would leave a gracious memory 
behind us, there is no better way to secure it, than by 
living graciously. A cheerful and benign temper, that 
buds forth pleasant blossoms, and bears sweet fruit for 
those who live within its influence, is sure to produce an 
undying growth of green remembrances that shall flour- 
ish immortally after the present stock is decayed and 
gone. 

Prof. Silliman closed a Smithsonian lecture in Wash- 
ington by giving the following sensible advice to young 
men : "If, therefore, you wish for a clear mind, strong 
muscles, and quiet nerves, for long life and power pro- 
longed into old age, permit me to say, although not a 
temperance lecturer, avoid all drinks but water, and but 
mild infusions of that fluid ; shun tobacco and opium, 
and everything else that disturbs the normal state of the 
system; rely upon nutritious food and mild dilutent 
drinks, of which water is the basis, and you will need 
nothing beyond these things, except rest and the due 
moral regulation of all your powers, to give you long, 
and happy, and useful lives, and a serene evening at the 
close." 

Women will be pure if man will be true. Young 
men, this great result abides with you ! If you could 
see how beautiful a flower grows upon the thorny stock 
of self-denial, you could give the plant the honor it de- 
serves. If it seems hard and homely, despise it not ; for 
in it sleeps the beauty of heaven and the breath of angels. 
If you do not witness the glory of its blossomings during 
the day of life, its petals will open when the night of 
death comes, and gladden your eyes with their marvel- 
ous loveliness, and fill your soul with their grateful 
perfume. 

Think of this, my good friend, and as you have kind 
affections to make some good girl happy, settle yourself 
in life while you are young, and lay up, by so doing, a 
stock of domestic happiness, against age or bodily decay. 
There are many good things in life, whatever satirists 



114 TRUE MANLINESS. 

and misanthropes may say to the contrary; but probably 
the best of all, next to a conscience void of offence (but 
without which, by the by, they can hardly exist,) are the 
quiet exercise and enjoyment of the social feelings, in 
which we are at once happy in ourselves, and the cause 
of happiness to those who are dearest to us. 

If a young man deserves praise be sure and give it to 
him, else you not only run a chance of driving him from 
the right road for want of encouragement, but deprive 
yourself of the happiest privilege you will ever have of 
rewarding his labor. For it is only the young who can 
receive much reward from men's praise. The old, when 
they are great, get too far beyond and above what you 
may think of them. You may urge them with acclama- 
tion, but they will doubt your pleasure and despise your 
praise. You might have cheered them in their race 
through the asphodel meadows of their youth ; you might 
have brought the proud, bright scarlet to their faces if 
you had cried but once, "Well done!" as they dashed 
up the first goal of their early ambition. But now their 
pleasure is memory, and their ambition is in heaven. 
They can be kind to you, and you can never more be 
kind to them. 



TRUE MANLINESS. 

Sociality is to man what modesty is to woman ; it is a 
principle that should be ever active, but governed by 
occasion and consistency. A lack of this betrays at once 
a deficiency in true manliness. Not so much depends 
upon a power or faculty as upon its proper exercise; and 
when this is abused, there is a great depreciation of its 
beauties. To the young man just entering the most im- 
portant portion of his existence — the formation of a 
worthy name and character — it is well that he should 
first learn that society corrupts as it is corrupt — that it 
forms or moulds principles by a gradual or accelerated 
progress according to the degree of its influence. There- 



TRUE MANLINESS. 115 

fore, there is no danger in being too particular in the 
selection of society, and in estimating the weight of its 
various associations. 

Just and discriminating ideas generally lead to proper 
action, and a willing judgment enforces a strict adherence 
to the rules of propriety. Stupid, yes presumptuous must 
that young man be who would peril every consideration 
for a good character upon a base act, simply because he 
cannot see at once the true tendency of a consistent 
course of life. But it can be seen, and like the works of 
a good man, will shine before the world, leaving a light- 
behind, and sending its arrowy beams into the future, to 
guide life's wandering steps aright. 

Deportment, honesty, caution, and a desire to do right 
carried out in practice, are to human character what 
truth, reverence, and love are to religion. They are the 
unvaried elements of a good reputation. Such virtues 
can never be reproached, although the vulgar and des- 
picable may scoff at them ; but it is not so much in their 
affected revulsion at them, as it is in the wish to reduce 
them to the standard of their own degraded natures, and 
vitiated passions. Let such scoff and sneer, — let them 
laugh and ridicule as much as they may, — a strict, up- 
right, onward course will evince to the world and to 
them, that there is more manly independence in one for- 
giving smile, than in all the pretended exceptions to 
worthiness in the society of the mean and vulgar. Virtue 
must have its admirers, and firmness of principle, both 
moral and religious, will ever command the proudest 
encomium of the intelligent world, to the exclusion of 
every other thing connected with human existence. 

Man is to be rated, not by his hoards of gold, not by 
the simple or temporary influence he may for a time 
exert; but by his unexceptionable principles relative 
both to character and religion. Strike out these, and 
what is he ? A brute without a virtue — a savage with- 
out a sympathy ! Take them away and his manship is 
gone ; he no longer lives in the image of his Maker ! A 
cloud of sin hangs darkly on his brow ; there is ever a 
tempest on his countenance, the lightning in his glance, 



116 SELF STUDY KNOW THYSELF. 

the thunder in words, and the rain and whirlwind in the 
breathing of his angry soul. No smile gladdens his lip to 
tell that love is playing there ; no sympathizing glow 
illuminates his cheek. Every word burns with malice, 
and that voice — the mystic gift of Heaven — grates as 
harshly on the timid ear, as rushing thunders beating 
amid falling cliffs and tumbling cataracts. 

But this is too dark a picture for a long continued 
view. Turn we from it now, as from a frightful scene, 
to the only divine image that Virtue elevates before the 
world for example and imitation. Let man go abroad 
with just principles, and what is he ? An exhaustless 
fountain in a vast desert ! A glorious sun shining ever — 
dispelling every vestige of darkness ! There is love ani- 
mating his heart, sympathy breathing in every tone. 
Tears of pity — dew drops of the soul — gather in his eye, 
and gush impetuously down his cheek. Quivering on 
his lips are words that wait for utterance, and thoughts, 
winged as with lightning, play amid his tell-tale glances. 
A good man is abroad and the world knows and feels it. 
Beneath his smile lurks no degrading passion ; within 
his heart there slumbers no guile. He is not exalted in 
mortal pride — not elevated in his own views, but honest, 
moral and virtuous before the world. He stands throned 
on truth, his fortress is wisdom and his dominion is the 
vast and limitless universe. Always upright, kind and 
sympathizing, always attached to just principles and actu- 
ated by the same, governed by the highest motives in 
doing good — these are Ms only true manliness. 



SELF-STUDY— KNOW THYSELF. 

There is nothing that helps a man in his conduct 
through life more than a knowledge of his own charac- 
teristic weaknesses, which, guarded against, become his 
strength, as there is nothing that tends more to the suc- 
cess of a man's talents than his knowing the limits of his 
faculties, which are thus concentrated on some practical 
object. One man can do but one thing well Universal 



SELF-STUDY KNOW THYSELF. 117 

pretentions end in nothing. " It is a deplorable condi- 
tion, 1 ' says Bishop Sherloch, "to be always doing what 
we are always condemning." The reproaches of others 
are painful enough. But when the. lash is laid on by our 
own hand, the anguish is intolerable. How cheering, 
on the contrary, even in the deepest night of calamity, 
when conscience calls out from her watch-tower in the 
soul— AWs Well! 

When we are alone we have our thoughts to watch, in 
our families, our tempers, and in society our tongues. 
When you have no observers be afraid of yourself. 
Observe yourself as your greatest enemy ; so shall you 
become your greatest friend. You may gain applause 
by one great, wise or fortunate action ; to avoid censure, 
you must pass a whole life without saying or doing one 
bad or foolish thing. 

Would you know your neighbor's opinion of you, 
mark how his children treat you. 

To be great is to be good, to be good is to be wise, 
and to be wise is to know thyself. "Know thyself" is 
a precept which, we are informed, descended from 
Heaven. It is a noble science to know one's self; and 
a noble courage, to know how to yield. 

The Arabs have a proverb, " The moment a man is 
satisfied with himself, everybody else is dissatisfisd with 
him." We have weak points both by birth and educa- 
tion, and it may be questioned which of the two give us 
the most trouble. If we were as careful to polish our 
manners as our teeth, to make our temper sweet as our 
breath, to cut off our faults as to pare our nails, to be 
upright in character as in person, to shave our souls as 
to shave our chin, what an immaculate race we should 
become ! Many a man thinks it is a virtue that keeps 
him from turning rascal, when it is only a full stomach. 
One should be careful and not mistake potatoes for prin- 
ciples. If it is difficult to see any fault in a child, or a 
book, or a pudding, or any one we love, how much more 
so that we should see any in ourselves ! 

A man should never glory in that which is common to 
a beast, nor a wise man in that which is common to a 



118 SELF-STUDY — KNOW THYSELF. 

fool, nor a good man in that which is common to a wicked 
man. Other men's woes are our warnings ; their deso- 
lation should be our information. Rather avoid those 
vices you are naturally inclined to, says Cicero, than aim 
at those excellencies and perfections which you were 
never made for. 

Discourses of morality, and reflections upon human 
nature, are the best means we can make use of to improve 
our minds, and gain a true knowledge of ourselves ; and 
consequently to recover our souls out of the vice, the 
ignorance, and the prejudice, which naturally cleave to 
them. 

There are looking-glasses for the face, but none for 
the mind. That defect must be supplied then by a seri- 
ous reflection upon one's self. When the eternal image 
escapes, let the internal retain and correct it. Self- 
examination is the only true looking-glass. 

When a man perfectly understands himself, mentally, 
and physically, and morally, his road to happiness is 
smooth, and society has a strong guarantee for his good 
conduct and usefulness. Some, by attempting what they 
can never accomplish, lose the opportunity of doing 
what they might, and are often er perplexed than bene- 
fited by their lolly. All our knowledge is wisely to 
know. 

Self-love is not so great a sin as self-neglecting. Wind 
up your conduct like a watch every day, examining 
minutely whether you run fast, or slow. He is the best 
accountant who can count up correctly the sum of his 
own error. There is a Gaelic proverb, "If the best 
man's faults were written on his forehead, it would make 
him pull his hat over his eyes." There is no man who 
would not be mortified it he knew what his friends 
thought of him. He that communes with himself in 
private will learn truths that the multitude will not tell 
him. The world does not know a fool's infirmities half 
so well as a wise man knows his own. 

He that sees ever so accurately, ever so nicely into the 
motives of other people's acting, may possibly be entirely 
ignorant as to his own : it is by the mental as the cor- 



SELF-STUDY KNOW THYSELF. 119 

poreal eye, the object may be placed too near the sight 
to be seen truly, as well as too far off; nay too near to 
be seen at all. "When I was a boy," said an old man, 
" we had a school-master who had an odd way of catch- 
ing idle boys. One day he called out to us : ' Boys, I 
must have closer attention to your books. The first one 
of you that sees another boy idle, I want you to inform 
me, and I will attend to the case.' 'Ah! thought I to 
myself, there is Joe Simmons that I don't like, I'll watch 
him, and if I see him look off his book I'll tell.' It was 
not long before I saw Joe look off his book, and immedi- 
ately I informed the master. 'Indeed,' said he, 'how 
did you know he was idle ?' 'I saw him,' said I. 'You 
did; and were your eyes on your book when you saw 
him ?' I was caught, and I never after watched for idle 
boys." If we are sufficiently watchful over our own con- 
duct, we will find no time to find fault with the conduct 
of others. 

Nature, that we may not be disgusted and discouraged 
with beholding our own internal deformities, has wisely 
and kindly turned the sight of our eyes entirely outward. 
In order to live justly, and be respected we must refrain 
from doing that which we blame in others. When the 
furious Orson saw his own image reflected from his 
brother's shield, he started back and stayed his blow ; 
and many of our own attacks on our brother's faults 
might be arrested, if there were a mirror on his bosom 
to show us our own likeness there. You had better find 
out one ot your own weaknesses than ten of your 
neighbors. 

Says Plutarch, our industrious search and inquiries 
should chiefly be employed about our own affairs at 
home ; for here we shall find so many offenses in our 
conversation, such variety of perturbation in our souls, 
and manifest failures in our duty, that it will take up so 
much time to reform them, as not to leave us any leisure 
to be impertinent or ill-natured in remarking upon the 
faults of others. 

He learns much who studies other men ; he also learns 
more who studies himself. If you would find a great 



120 THE HEART. 

many faults, be on the lookout. If you would find them 
in still greater abundance, be on the look in. Forgetting 
one's self, or knowing one's self, — around these every- 
thing turns. Resist yourself and you shall have peace. 
Know thyself. Be contented with thy lot. It is a maxim 
of the Chinese, " Sweep the snow from before your own 
door, and never mind the frost on your neighbor's roof." 
If disposed to be exacting let your heaviest demands be 
made upon yourself. Observe what directions your 
thoughts and feelings most readily take when you are 
alone, and you will then form a tolerably correct opinion 
of your real state. Many persons have quickness to dis- 
cover their faults who have not energy enough to eradi- 
cate them. 

" If one speaks ill of thee," said Epictetus, u consider 
whether he hath truth on his side, and if so, reform thy- 
self, that his censures may not affect thee." When An- 
aximander was told that the very boys laughed at his 
singing, " Ah," said he, " then I must learn to sing 
better." Plato, being told that he had many enemies 
who spoke ill of him, said "I shall live so that none will 
believe them." Hearing at another time that an intimate 
friend of his had spoken detractingly of him, he said, " I 
am sure he would not do it if he had not some reason 
for it," This is the surest, as well as the noblest way of 
drawing the sting out of a reproach, and the true method 
of preparing a man for that great and only relief against 
the pains of calumny. 

To be despised or blamed by an incompetent or un- 
canclid judge may give a momentary pain, but ought not 
to make one unhappy. 

Consider, dear reader not so much what thou art, as 
what thou shalt be. 

THE HEART. 

Of all beings in this world, the greatest is man, and 
what is greatest in man is his heart. A man's force in 
the world, other things being equal, is just in the ratio 
•of the force and strength of his heart. A full-hearted 



THE HEART. 121 

man is always a powerful man ; if he be erroneous, then 
he is powerful for error ; if the thing is in his heart, he 
is sure to make it notorious, even though it may be a 
downright falsehood. Let a man be ever so ignorant, 
still if his heart be full of love to the cause, he becomes 
a powerful man for that object, because he has heart- 
power, heart-force. A man may be deficient in many of 
the advantages of education, in many of those niceties 
which are so much looked upon in society ; but once 
give him a strong heart that beats hard, and there is no 
mistake about his power. Let him have a heart that is 
right full up to the brim with an object, and that man 
will do the thing, or else he will die gloriously defeated, 
and will glory in his defeat. Heart is power. 

He who has a stout heart will do stout-hearted actions 
— actions which, however unconscious the doer may be 
of the fact, cannot fail to have something of immortality 
in the essence ; something that in all coming time will 
preserve alive their memory and cause them to blos- 
som long after the valiant doer of them has lain in dust. 
Such a man will not be daunted by difficulties. Opposi- 
tion will but serve as fuel to the fire which feeds the 
spirit of self help within him, stimulating him to still 
greater efforts, and, in fact creating opportunities for 
them. And though in the nature of things failures must 
often be his portion, and even success will alike nerve 
him anew for the struggle, and endue him with courage 
to meet the further disappointments which past experi- 
ence will have taught him are likely to be his lot. Neither 
will he, in his efforts to attain some great end, to bring 
to happy accomplishment some noble work, be daunted 
by the reflection that he never can be sure of success, 
even in enterprises springing from the highest motives 
and steadfastly pursued at the cost of all that is dearest. 
To him it will suffice that the end he has in view is a right 
one, and that if he is not destined to accomplish it, eventu- 
ally it must triumph. With prophetic eye he looks for- 
ward to the dawning of the time, when, long after he has 
been called hence, posterity shall enter into his labor 
and taste the fruits of the tree which he has planted. 



122 THE HEART. 

It was long supposed that the brain was the only organ 
of living sensibility, but an eminent physician, Dr. Lee, 
discovered, and it is one of the most brilliant discoveries 
of the age, that the heart is the seat of nervous sensibility 
in the highest degree, and therefore, that the Bible, when 
it speaks of the heart-broken, the heart-sorrowing, the 
heart-grieving, the heart-bleeding, does not use language 
unwarranted by physiological science, but what the 
recent discoveries of that science have demonstrated to 
be literally true ; ripe science falling into harmony with 
fixed and sure revelation. 

It is the vice of the age to substitute learning for wis- 
dom — to educate the head, and forget that there is a 
more important education necessary for the heart. The 
reason is cultivated at an age when nature does not fur- 
nish the elements necessary to a successful cultivation of 
it ; and the child is solicited to reflection when he is only 
capable of sensation and emotion. In infancy, the atten- 
tion and the memory are only excited strongly by things 
which impress the senses and move the heart, and a 
father shall instill more solid and available instruction in 
an hour spent in the fields, where wisdom and goodness 
are exemplified, seen and felt, than in a month spent in 
the study, where they are expounded in stereotype 
aphorisms. 

No physician doubts that precocious children, in fifty 
cases for one, are much worse for the discipline they have 
undergone. The mind seems to have been strained, and 
the foundations for insanity are laid. When the studies 
of maturer years are stuffed into the child's head, people 
do not reflect on the anatomical fact that the brain of an 
infant is not the brain of a man ; that the one is con- 
firmed and can bear exertion — the other is growing up, 
and requires repose ; that to force the attention to ab- 
stract facts — to load the memory with chronological 
and historical or scientific detail — in short, to expect a 
child's brain to bear the exertion of a man's, is just as 
rational as it would be to hazard the same sort of experi- 
ment on its muscles. 

The first eight or ten years of life should be devoted 



THE HEART. 123 

to the education of the heart — to the formation of princi- 
ple rather than to the acquirement of what is usually- 
termed knowledge. Nature herself points out such a 
course : for the emotions are the liveliest, and most easily 
moulded, being as yet unalloyed by passion. It is from 
this source that the mass of men are hereafter to draw 
their sum of happiness or misery ; the actions of the im- 
mense majority are, under all circumstances, determined 
much more by feeling than reflection ; in truth, life pre- 
sents an infinity of occasions where it is essential to 
happiness that we should feel rightly ; very few where it 
is at all necessary that we should think profoundly. 

Up to the seventh year of life, very great changes are 
going on in the structure of the brain, and demand, there- 
fore, the utmost attention not to interrupt them by im- 
proper or over-excitement. Just that degree of exercise 
should be given to the brain at this period as is neces- 
sary to its health, and the best is oral instruction, ex- 
emplified by objects which strike the senses. 

It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, at this period 
of life, special attention should be given, both by parents 
and teachers, to the physical development of the child. 
Pure air and free exercise are indispensible, and wherever 
either of these are withheld, the consequences will be 
certain to extend themselves over the whole future life. 
The seeds of protracted and hopeless suffering, in in- 
numerable instances, have been sown into the constitution 
of the child, simply through ignorance of this great 
fundamental physical law ; and the time has come when 
the united voice of these innocent victims should ascend, 
" trumpet -tongued," to the ears of every parent and every 
teacher in the land. u Give us free air and wholesome 
exercise — leave us to develope our expanding energies 
in accordance with the laws of our being — and give us 
full scope for the elastic and bounding impulses of our 
young blood." 

Woe, woe for that mortal whose intellect outgrows his 
moral sense, until the one stands dwarfed in the growing 
shadow of the other. A being thus constituted is u no 
less a monster," some one has said, " than the big-headed 



124 THE HEART. 

child of the fair, or the weak-kneed giant of the circus." 
Saturn eating his own children is a type of men of this 
stamp. Humanity recoils from them when once they 
unveil their remorseless egotism, their sublimated sophis- 
try. Yoltaire, Rosseau, Napoleon, Robespierre, were 
monsters of this class, scarcely less hideous to me than 
Caligula or Hellogabalus. Yet how attractive, until the 
Mokanna veil is lifted, is its glittering light. 

Let the heart be opened, and a thousand virtues will 
rush in. There is a dew in one flower and not in another, 
because one opens its cup and takes it in, while the other 
closes itself and the drop runs off. God rains his good- 
ness and mercy as widespread as the dew, and if we lack 
them, it is because we will not open our hearts to re- 
ceive them. Some hearts, like primroses, open most 
beautifully in the shadow of life. Many flowers open to 
the sun, but only one follows him constantly. Heart, be 
thou the sunflower, not only open to receive God's 
blessings, but constant in looking to him. 

No man can tell whether he is rich or poor by turning 
to his ledger. It is the heart that makes a man rich. He 
is rich or poor according to what he is, not according to 
what he has. Cultivate your heart aright, as well as 
your farm ; and remember, whatsoever a man sows that 
shall he reap. Feeling is a truer oracle than thought ; 
hence women are oftener right than men. When the 
heart is out of tune the tongue seldom goes right. Keep 
thy heart with all diligence for out of it are the issues of 
life. 

The heart is the workshop in which are forged secret 
slanders, and all evil speaking. The mouth is only the 
outer shop or salesroom where all the goods that are 
made within are sold. The tongue is the salesman. 

Some men employ their time in cultivating their farms, 
some their heads, some in feeding their evil passions, 
some cultivate their hearts. 

As a physical heart is the center of life in the body, 
so the sensibilities seem to give vitality to all the various 
faculties of the mind. But if one of the ventricles of 
that organ become impaired, the blood gradually ceases 



THE HEART. 125 

to flow, and the body perishes. So if the spiritual heart 
becomes irregular in its action the mind will be chaotic. 
How often we meet with examples of this character in 
the common walks of life. _ Many lose their balance of 
mind and become wrecks from a want of heart- culture. 
But how is this to be remedied? We look in vain to 
our educational system. That seems to be organized for 
the exjDress purpose of learning persons to think. Is the 
head of more importance than the heart? It is true that 
wealth is the child of the one, but it is equally true that 
happiness is the offspring of the other. The heart must 
be cultivated. It isindispensible to the happiness of our 
race. The noblest struggles of humanity have been those 
in which the feelings of the heart have come off triumph- 
ant. Jefferson held that the victory of the American 
Revolution was a victory of the heart. The rights of 
men are too sacred for human calculation. 

Some great men have been the terror of the age in 
which they lived ; and left death and ruin in their path- 
ways, because their hearts were uncultivated. Such were 
Napoleon, Cesar, Hannibal and Alexander. But when 
we wish to contemplate nolle characters, we point to 
those who had hearts as well as heads. When will the 
wisdom of Paul be forgotten, or the tenderness and love 
of John cease to be venerated ? The memory of Luther 
is very dear, because his heart was tried amidst the threats 
and superstitions of a darker age. Milton is loved be- 
cause misfortune made him a better man. The beauty 
of a man's character depends very much upon the culture 
of his heart. This placed Washington above Bacon, 
and rendered Penn superior to Locke. 

The man who is destitute of feeling can realize but a 
small portion of Nature's bounties. True he may look 
around him, and see the hills, trace their curves, calcu- 
late their dimensions, take the dip of a rock, measure 
the earth's strata, become acquainted with the laws of 
motion, recognize colors, hear sounds, sail upon the waters, 
and measure the distance between the planets — and yet 
how cold and shivering is all this. It lacks those quali- 
ties which give joy to life. Come, Heart, animate this 



126 THE HEART. 

world of ours. Add feelings to thoughts. For what are 
hills without grandeur and sublimity ? What are curves 
without beauty and symmetry? Why measure the earth 
and calculate the dimensions of the mountains, if it be 
not to fill our hearts with love for the God of the hills 
and the valleys, the islands and the continents, the earth 
and the heavens. It is the heart that loves. It is the 
heart that is filled with delight when we look upon rich 
fields, green pastures and woodlands, filled with beauti- 
ful flowers and singing birds. Everything that makes us 
feel joyous and happy belongs to the heart. That man's 
destiny is most glorious whose heart is most alive to the 
good, the beautiful and the true. The cultivated heart is: 

" The dwelling place of all 
The heavenly virtues — Charity and Truth, 
Humility, and Holiness, and Love." 

It fills us with a charm, and seems to bring us in com- 
munion with heaven. May we all, as we cultivate the 
fields, and reap their golden harvests, also cultivate the 
heart, and we shall reap a richer and more glorious harvest 
for our souls to feed upon in another world. 

Said an eminent minister recently, at the dedication of 
a new mission building in New York city, " Great mis- 
takes are sometimes made about the Gospel. Doing a 
kindly act to a fellow-being, is religion as well as preach- 
ing and praying. I would not, he said, give a copper 
coin for the mere preaching in this chapel, if nothing else 
were done — if the Gospel were not sent hissing hot from 
warm hearts into the cellars and garrets of this locality. 
I am firmly convinced that the grandest power on this 
earth to-day is a warm human heart." 

From my window I have many times watched, with 
intense interest, the untiring efforts of a gardener, to rid 
his garden of a little vine, which, if permitted to grow, 
choked out all the good sown there. From time to time 
he used many means, but to no effect, until he commenced 
to root them out upon their first appearance. Just 
so it is with our hearts ; we receive good impressions, 
and in tears resolve to be made better by them, but we 
are defeated and driven back with our own sword, for 



THE HEART. 127 

the little sins we have almost unconsciously allowed to 
remain there, spring up and choke out all the good, leav- 
ing naught but fear and self-distrust, and in our confusion 
we often resort to many means whereby we may over- 
come, but to no purpose. Oh ! how wise it would be to 
learn a lesson from the judicious gardener, remembering 
that the only safe way to rid ourselves of besetting sins, 
is to root them out from our hearts, for to retain is but to 
cherish, and "he who would be wise, must be wise for 
himself." 

If we could only read each other's hearts, we should 
be kinder to each other. If we knew the woes and bit- 
terness- and physical annoyances of our neighbors, we 
should make allowances for them which Ave do not now. 
We go about masked, uttering stereotyped sentiments, 
hiding our heart-pangs and our headaches as carefully as 
we can ; and yet we wonder that others do not discover 
them by intuition. We cover our best feelings from the 
light : we do not so conceal our resentments and our 
dislikes, of which we are prone to be proud. life is a 
masquerade at which few unmask even to their very 
dearest. And though there is need of much masking, 
would to Heaven we dared show our real faces from 
birth to death, for then some few at least would truly love 
each other. 

It is better to live in hearts than in houses. A change 
of circumstances or a disobliging landlord may turn one 
out of a house to which he has formed many attachments. 
Removed from place to place is with many unavoidable 
incidents in life. But one cannot be expelled from a true 
and loving heart save by his own fault ; not yet always 
by that, for affection clings tenaciously to its object in 
spite of ill-desert; but go where he 'will, his home re- 
mains in hearts which have learned to love him ; the roots 
of affection are not torn out or destroyed by such re- 
movals, but they remain fixed deep in the heart, clinging 
still to the image of that object which they are more eager 
to clasp. When one revisits the home of his childhood, 
or the place of his happy abode in life's spring-time, plea- 
sant as it is to survey each familiar spot, the house, the 



128 THE HEART. 

garden, the trees planted by himself or by kindred now 
sleeping in the dust, there is in the warm grasp of the 
hand, in the melting of the eye, in the kind and earnest 
salutation, in the tender solicitude for the comfort and 
pleasure of his visit, a delight that no mere local object 
of nature or art, no beautiful cottage, or shady rill, or 
quiet grove, can possibly bestow. To be remembered, 
to be loved, to live in hearts, that is one solace amid 
earthly changes — this is a joy above all the pleasures of 
scene and place. We love this spiritual home-feeling — 
the union of hearts which death cannot destroy ; for it 
augurs, if there be heart-purity as well as heart-affection, 
an unchanging and imperishable abode in hearts now dear. 
Cromwell was once engaged in a warm argument with 
a lady on oratory, in which she maintained that elo- 
quence could only be acquired by those who made it 
their study from early youth, and their practice after- 
wards. The Lord Protector, on the contrary, maintained 
that there was an eloquence which sprang from the heart; 
since, when that was deeply interested in the attainment 
of any object, it never failed to supply a fluency and rich- 
ness of expression, which would, in the comparison ren- 
der vapid the studied speech of the most celebrated 
orators. It happened, some days afterwards, that this lady 
was thrown into a state bordering on destruction, by the 
arrest and imprisonment of her husband who was con- 
ducted to the Tower as a traitor to the government. The 
agonized wife flew to the Lord Protector, rushed through 
his guards, threw herself at his feet, and, with the most 
pathetic eloquence pleaded for the life and innocence of 
her injured husband. His highness maintained a severe 
brow, till the petitioner, overpowered by the excess of 
her feelings, and the energy with which she had expressed 
them paused ; then his stern countenance relaxed into a 
smile, and, extending to her an order for the immediate 
liberation of her husband, he said, " I think all who have 
witnessed this scene will vote on my side of the question, 
in a dispute between us the other day, that the eloquence 
of the heart is far above that mechanically acquired by 
study." 



PRAISE. 129 

PRAISE. 

There is this good in commendation, that it helps to 
confirm men in the practice of virtue. No obligation can 
be of more force, than to render to eminent virtue its due 
merit. Bulwer thinks we might praise more than we do. 
He says: "No one can deny that animals in general, 
and men in particular, are keenly susceptible to praise. 
Nor is it a less common-place truism, that the desire of 
approbation is at the root of those actions to which the 
interest of the societies they are held to benefit or adorn 
has conceded the character of virtue, and sought to stimu- 
late by promise of renown. Yet, in our private inter- 
course with our fellows, there is no instrument of power 
over their affections or their conduct which we employ 
with so grudging parsimony, as that which is the most 
pleasing and efficacious of all. We are much more in- 
clined to resort to its contrary, and, niggards of praise, 
are prodigals of censure. For my own part, I think that 
as a word of praise warms the heart towards him who be- 
stows it and insensibly trains him who receives it to strive 
after what is praiseworthy, and as our lesser faults may 
be thus gently corrected by disciplining some counter 
merits to strong and steadier efforts to outgrow them — 
so it is, on the whole, not more pleasant than wise to 
keep any large expenditure of scolding for great occa- 
sions, and carry about with us, for the common inter- 
change of social life, the argent do poche of ready praise. 
Scolding begets fear, praise nourishes love, and not only 
are human hearts, as a general rule, more easily governed 
by love than fear, but fear less often leads to the correc- 
tion of faults and the struggle for merits, than towards 
the cunning concealment of the one, and the sullen dis- 
couragement of the other. .But let me be understood. 
By praise I do not mean flattery ; I mean nothing insin- 
cere. Insincerity alienates love and rots away authority. 
Praise is worth nothing if it be not founded on truth. 
But as no one within the pale of the law lives habitually 
with miscreants in whom there is nothing to praise and 
everything to censure, so the person with whom a man 
9 



130 PRAISE. 

tolerably honest is socially conversant must have some 
good points, whatever be the number of bad ones. And 
it is by appealing to and strengthening whatsoever is 
good in them, that you may gradually stimulate and train 
for the cure of what is evil that tendency of nature which, 
in mind as in body, seeks to rid itself of aliments perni- 
cious to its health, in proportion, as its noble resources 
are called forth, and its normal functions are righted by 
being invigorated." 

One of our old poets says : 

" If I praised these men too much, 

It "was with purpose to have made them such." 

And another represents the character as having taken 
the hint : 

" You make me so, 

AVhen you do think me such." 

Another says : 

" Flatteries oft' work as far 

As counsels, and as high the endeavors raise." • 

It was elegantly said in a letter to Cardinal Bichlieu : 
"My lord, as there was, heretofore, a valiant man who 
could not receive any wounds, but on the scars of those 
he had already received ; so you can not be praised but 
by repetitions ; seeing that truth, which has its bounds, 
has said for you whatever falsehood, which knows none, 
has invented for others." In rendering praise, one great 
difficulty is to keep the enthusiasm of the moment with- 
in the limit of permanent opinion. The character of the 
person who commends you, is to be considered before 
you set a value upon his esteem. The wise man applauds 
him whom he thinks most virtuous ; but the rest of the 
world, him who is most wealthy. Men are not to be 
judged by -their looks, habits and appearances ; but by 
the character of their lives and conversations, and by 
their works. It is better that a man's own works, than 
that another man's own words should praise him. 

The love of praise is naturally implanted in our bosoms ; 
and it is a very difficult task to get above a desire of it, 
even for things that should be indifferent. It is never 



FLATTERY. 131 

best to fish for praise — it is not worth the bait. Those 
who angle continually for praise get bitten oftener than 
the bait does. The least praiseworthy are generally the 
most covetous of praise. It has been said that, when men 
abuse us, we should suspect ourselves ; when they praise 
us, them. To be totally indifferent to praise or censure 
is a real defect in character. To love our enemies, to 
mind our own business, and to relieve the distressed, are 
things oftener praised than practiced. When you can not 
praise be silent, unless a manifest wrong calls for censure. 
Praise not the unworthy on account of their wealth. 
Praises of the unworthy are felt by ardent minds as rob- 
beries of the deserving. Praise is valuable only when it 
comes from lips that have the courage to condemn. Praise 
is sometimes as hurtful as censure. It is as bad to be 
blown into the air as to be cast into a pit. There are 
compliments that censure, as there are satires that praise. 
There are those who covet not only praise but the repu- 
tation of despising it. 

Never praise a man for being like a woman, nor a wo- 
man for resembling a man. True praise takes root and 
spreads. The highest panegyric that private virtue can 
receive is the praise of servants. His praise is lost who 
waits till all commend. A merit that is worthy of praise, 
may be spoiled by praises. 



FLATTERY. 

That society is often based upon false principles, yield- 
ing the palm of preference to those whose external ap- 
pearance may be most pleasing to the artificial eye, is 
clearly proved by the knowledge of the customs of almost 
every people. The diamond often dazzles far more than 
the lustre of mind ; while he, whose mind is stored with 
useful knowledge and decorated in homelier attire, is often 
excluded from, the presence of those who would arrogate 
to themselves all claims to superiority. But what is it 
that has given the worthless and avaricious such a potent 
charm, in keeping the artificial link of society bright? 



132 FLATTERY. 

It is flattery ! The designing use this weapon when all 
others fail. The miser pours it out upon those whose 
purse he would shorten ; the politician deals liberally 
with encomiums upon the people, from whom he derives 
the emoluments or honor of office. The love of approba- 
tion is innate in the constitution of man ; its sparks are 
first kindled in the bosom of the cradled infant, glowing 
with intense power, until manhood has developed its fac- 
ulties. Young has described it thus : 

" TJie love of praise, liowe'er concealed by art, 
Reigns, more or less, and glows in every heart; 
The proud to gain it, toils on toils endure ; 
The modest shun it, but to make it sure. 
O'er globes and sceptres, now on thrones it dwells, - 
Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells ; 
'Tis tory, whig; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads, 
Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades, 
It aids the dancer's heel, the writer's head, 
And heaps the plain with mountains of the dead, 
Nor ends with life, but nods in sable plumes, 
Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs." 

Such is the love of praise, and by a kind of instinct we 
naturally think well of those who administer to our vanity, 
and shun those who dwell on disparagements against us, 
and who regard us with an envious eye. Thus it is that 
the deceitful, by taking advantage of this frailty of human 
nature, gain an ascendancy over our affections which 
would have been produced by no other artifice. Many 
a heart has bled with the arrow of Cupid, which was sent 
upon its winged message by the breath of flattery ; many 
a fire has glowed upon the alter of Hymen, which has 
been fanned by its mystic influence ; but it never won 
one sensible heart nor kindled one true fire ! Neverthe- 
less, it has left many a heart with an aching void, and 
deceived many into regions of fancy who had been borne 
upon its light, fluctuating wings. 

Flattery is a sort of bad-money to which our vanity 
gives currency. Kings never hear the voice of truth until 
they are dethroned, nor beauties until they have abdicated 
their charms. When some people make a great deal of 
you, you may be sure they mean to make a great deal 
out of you. A compliment is a thing frequently paid by 
those who never pay anything else. 



FALSEHOOD. 133 

The flatterer must act the very reverse of the physician, 
administering the strongest close only to the weakest 
patient We must suit the flattery to the mind and taste 
of the recipient : Ave do not pnt essences into hogsheads 
or porter into phials. 

Flattery is like your shadow : it makes you neither 
larger or smaller. 



FALSEHOOD. 

It is dangerous to deviate from the truth, even on the 
most trifling occasion. However cruileless mav be our inten- 
tions. the habit, if indulged, may take root, and gain on us 
under the cover of various pretences, till it usurps a leading 
influence on our conduct. Xothing appears so low and 
mean as lying and dissimulation ; and it is observable, 
that only weak animals endeavor to supply by craft the 
defects of strength, which nature has not given- them. 
He that deceives his neighbor with lies, is unjust to him, 
and cheats him out of the truth, to which he has a natu- 
ral right. When a man hath forfeited the reputation of 
his integrity, he is set fast ; and nothing will then serve 
his turn, neither truth nor falsehood. There are lying 
looks, as well as lying words ; dissembling smiles, deceiv- 
ing signs, and even a lying silence. Not to intend what 
you speak, is to give your heart the lie with your tongue ; 
not to perform what you promise, is to give your tongue 
the lie with your actions. 

Plutarch calls lying the voice of a slave. There is no 
vice, says Lord Bacon, that so covers a man with shame 
as to be found false and perfidious. It is easy to tell a 
lie, and hard to tell but a lie. One lie requires many 
more to maintain it. Denying a fault doubles it. TTe 
must not always speak all that we know — that would be 
folly : but what a man says should be what he thinks, other- 
wise it is knavery. All a man can get by lying and dis- 
sembling is, that he will not be believed when he speaks 
the truth. A liar is subject to two misfortunes : neither 
to believe nor be believed. If falsehood, says Montaigne, 



134 DECEPTION. 

like truth, had but one face, we should be upon better 
terms; for we should then take the contrary from what 
the liar says for certain truth. Since speech is the great 
gift which distinguishes men from beasts, how unworthy are 
they that falsify it ! No creature has deceitful cries, except 
that animal bred on the banks of the Nile. It is only man 
that perverts the use of his voice. Lying is a vice so very 
infamous that the greatest liars cannot bear it in other 
men. Of all vices, lying is the meanest. No cause is 
ever made better, but always worse, by a falsehood. 
Even where detection does not follow, suspicion is always 
created. Wrong is but falsehood put in practice. 

The Chinese proverb says a lie has no legs, and can not 
stand ; but it has wings and can fly far and wide. You 
never can unite, though you may try ever so hard, the 
antagonistic elements of truth and falsehood. The man 
that forgets a great deal that has happened, has a better 
memory than he who remembers a great deal that never 
happened. 



DECEPTION. 

There can not be a greater treachery, than first to raise 
a confidence and then deceive it. A man can not be jus- 
tified in deceiving, misleading or overreaching his neigh- 
bor. That kind of deceit which is cunningly laid, and 
smoothly carried on, under a disguise of friendship, is of 
all others the most impious and detestable. Nothing can 
be more unjust and ungenerous, than to play upon the 
belief of a harmless person, to make him suffer for his 
good opinion, and fare the worse for thinking me an 
honest man. To betray is base. 

" When devils will their blackest sins put on, 

They do suggest at first with heavenly shows." — Shak. 

One may smile, and smile, and be a villain. It would 
be more obliging to say plainly, we can not do what is 
desired, than to amuse people with fair words, which 
often puts them upon false measures. Deceit goes for 
false coin, and the deceiver for the coiner, which is still 



DETRACTION. 135 

worse, like counterfeit money, which, though a good man 
may receive it, yet he ought not to pay it. . When once a 
concealment or deceit has been practiced in matters where 
all should be fair and open as day, confidence can never 
be restored any more than you can restore the white 
bloom to the grape or plum that you have once press- 
ed in your hand. One of the most painful feelings the 
heart can know, is to learn the unworthiness of a person 
who has hitherto shared our good opinion and protec- 
tion ; we are at once mortified at our mistaken judgment, 
and wounded in our affections. It is far happier to be 
deceived than undeceived by those whom we love. 

A false friend is like the shadow on a sun dial, appearing 
in the sunshine, but disappearing in the shade. There 
are three ways of getting rid of a false friend : one, by 
telling him of his faults ; another, by asking his assist- 
ance ; and the third, by lending him money, or conferring 
some great obligation upon him. 

Did men take as much care to mend as they do to con- 
ceal their failings, they would both spare themselves that 
trouble which dissimulation puts them to, and gain, over 
and above, the commendations they aspire to by their 
seeming virtues. All false practices and affectations of 
knowledge are more odious to God, and deserve to be so 
to men, than any want or defect of knowledge can be. 
Let us not deceive ourselves. Men and women are never 
more frequently outwitted than when they are trying to 
outwit others. As you sow, so shall you reap. Any fool 
may start a humbug, but it takes a genius to carry one 
on. A man may see clearly through a woman's coquetry, 
and yet fall a victim to it ; like the nightingale, which 
sits on a tree and sees the net spread beneath, and yet 
hops straight into it. The most deceitful are the most 
suspectful. 



DETRACTION. 

He that praiseth bestows a favor, but he that detracts 
commits a robbery. A good word is an easy obligation ; 
but not to speak ill requires only our silence, which costs 



136 DETRACTION. 

us nothing. Do not cultivate curiosity. Every man has 
in his own life follies enough ; in his own mind troubles 
enough ; in the performance of his duties, deficiencies 
enough ; without being curious about the affairs of others. 
A man acquires more glory by defending than by accusing 
others. 

" Believe not each aspersing word. 

As most weak persons do ; 
But still believe that story false 

Which ought not to be true." 

Never listen to an infamous story handed you by a per- 
son who is known to be an enemy to the person he is 
defaming. Never condemn your neighbor unheard ; there 
are always two ways of telling a story. Hear no ill of a 
friend, nor speak any of an enemy. Believe not all you 
hear, nor report all you believe. Be cautious in believ- 
ing evil of others, but more cautious in reporting it. Ill 
reports do harm to him that makes them, and to those 
they are made to, as well as those they are made of. 
There is seldom any thing uttered in malice, which 
turns not to the hurt of the speaker. Believe nothing 
against another but on good authority ; nor report 
what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to 
others to conceal it. We are no more to hear calum- 
nies than to report them. It is a sign of a bad reputa- 
tion to take pleasure in blasting the credit of our neigh- 
bors. He who sells his neighbor's credit at a low rate, 
makes the market for another to buy his at the same 
price. He that indulges himself in calumniating or 
ridiculing the absent, plainly shows his company what 
they may expect from him after he leaves them. 

There is an odious spirit in some persons, who are bet- 
ter pleased to detect a fault than to commend a virtue. 
Some have a perfidious trick of ruining a man by com- 
mendations ; to praise for small things, that they may 
disparage successfully for greater. It is the worst of 
malice, says Plutarch, to intermix with reproaches some 
praises, that the accusations may gain the firmer belief. 
Many speak ill because they never learned to speak well. 

It is observed that the most censorious are generally 
-.the least judicious ; who, having nothing to recommend 



SLANDER. 137 

themselves, will be finding fault with others. No man 
envies the merit of another, that has any of his own. 
Every whisper of infamy is industriously circulated, every 
hint of suspicion eagerly improved, and every failure of 
conduct joyfully published, by those whose interest it is 
that the eye and voice of the public should be employed 
on any rather than on themselves. 

A scandalous assertion, if made directly, can not fre- 
quently be repeated, for the mode of its expression admits 
of little variety ; whereas your implied scandal is capable 
of being varied almost infinitely, and thus affords the 
pleasant and continued opportunity of showing off the 
ingenuity of the malicious man without vexing the dull 
ear of the drowsy one. One general mark of an imposter 
is that he outdoes the original. 



SLANDER. 

He that shoots at the stars may hurt himself, but not 
endanger them. When any man speaks ill of us, we are 
to make use of it as a caution, without troubling ourselves 
at the calumny. He is in a wretched case that values 
himself upon other people's opinions, and depends upon 
their judgment for the peace of his life. The contempt 
of injurious words stifles them, but resentment revives 
them. He that values himself upon conscience, not 
opinion, never heeds reproaches. When I am ill spoken 
of, I take it thus : if I have not deserved it, I am never 
the worse ; if I have, I'll mend. Socrates, when informed 
of some derogating speeches one had used concerning 
him behind his back, made only this facetious reply, "Let 
him beat me, too, when I am absent." Says Shakespeare : 

" But words are words ; I never yet did hear, 
That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear," 

Has anybody said evil things of you ? Never mind it. 
The abuse of some men is the best endorsement of integ- 
rity. He who is not calumniated is commonly of too 
little mental account to be worthy of it. Remember that it 
is always the best fruit which the birds are pecking at, 



138 FRETTING AND GRUMBLING. 

and that slanderers are like flies, which overlook all a 
man's good parts in order to light upon his sores. All 
men who do anything must expect a depreciation of their 
efforts. It is the dirt which their chariot wheels throw 
up. Asa great body is not without a like shadow, neither 
is any eminent virtue without eminent detraction. The 
worthiest people are the most assailed by slander. 

Henry Ward Beecher says : u Life would be a perpetual 
flea hunt if a man were obliged to run down all the inu- 
endoes, inveracities, the insinuations and suspicions which 
are uttered against him." Dirt on the character, if un- 
justly thrown, like dirt on the clothes, should be let alone 
for a while till it dries, and then it will rub off easy 
enough. Slander, like other poisons, when administered 
in very heavy doses, is often thrown off by the intended 
victim, and thus relieves where it was meant to kill. Dirt 
sometimes acts like fuller's earth, defiling for the moment, 
but purifying in the end. You cannot be permanently 
injured by the malicious gossip of your neighbors. A 
man who is inflexibly honest is safely shielded against the 
darts of detraction. Live down calumny ; the best reply 
to slanderous reports is a good life. A good life does 
not always silence calumny, but it certainly disarms it. 



FRETTING AND GRUMBLING. 

It is not work that kills men, it is worry. Work is 
healthy ; you can hardly put more on a man than he can 
bear. Worry is rust upon the blade. It is not the revo- 
lution that destroys the machinery, but the friction. Fear 
secretes acids', but love and trust are sweet juices. The 
man or woman who goes through the world grumbling 
and fretting is not only violating the laws of God, but is 
a sinner against the peace and harmony of society, and 
is, and of right ought to be, shunned accordingly. 

A fretting man or woman is one of the most unlovable 
objects in the world. A wasp is a comfortable house 
mate in comparison — it only stings when disturbed. But 
an habitual fretter buzzes if he don't sting, with or with- 



FRETTING AND GRUMBLING. 139 

out provocation. u It is better to dwell in the corner of 
a house-top than with a brawling woman and in a wide 
house." Children and servants cease to respect the au- 
thority or obey the commands of a complaining, worri- 
some, exacting parent or master. They know that 
"barking dogs don't bite," and fretters don't strike, and 
fhrnr conduct themselves accordingly. 

Has a neighbor injured you? 

Don't fret— 
You will yet come off the best ; 

He's the most to answer for ; 
Never mind it, let it rest, 

Don't fret. 

Has a horrid lie been told ? 

Don't fret- 
It will run itself to death, 

If you will let it quite alone, 
It will die for want of breath, 

Don't fret. 

Are your enemies at work ? 

Don't fret— 
They can't injure you a whit : 

If they find you heed them not, 
They will soon be glad to quit; 

Don't fret. 

Is adversity your lot ? 

Don't fret- 
Fortune's wheels keep turning round: 

Every spoke will reach the top, 
Which like you is going down. 

Don't fret. 

Reforms are not instituted by growling and fault-finding. 
There is an old fable of Esop's which shows how a wag- 
oner who was bemired extricated himself. The hopeful 
genius in question, immediately upon his accident, sat 
down by the roadside and, bitterly bewailing his predica- 
ment, called on Hercules to help him ; instead of doing 
so Hercules gave advice, and told the man to put his own 
shoulder to the wheel and help himself; in effect, to stop 
grumbling and go to work. The wagoner did this, was 
successful, and went on his way rejoicing. There are a 
great many people in the world like the wagoner in this 
fable. They are always in hot water, forever in trouble. 
They throw the blame of their own misdeeds and want 
of judgment upon others, and if one might believe them, 



140 PEEVISHNESS. 

society would be found in a shocking state. They rail at 
everything, lofty or lowly, and when they have no grumb- 
ling to do they begin to deprecate. They endeavor to 
make good actions seem contemptible in other men's 
eyes, and try to belittle every noble and praiseworthy 
enterprise by casting suspicion upon the motives of those 
connected with it. Such individuals, whether men or 
women, are an incubus on any society, and the best way to 
paralyze their efforts to create discord, is to ignore them 
altogether. Let grumblers form a select circle by them- 
selves. Let them herd together; give them the cold 
shoulder when they appear, and make them uncomfort- 
able during their sojourn, and if they can not be cured 
they may be more easily endured, and perhaps discover 
the error of their ways and reform. 

An Englishman dearly likes, says Punch, to grumble, 
no matter whether he be right or wrong, crying or laugh- 
ing, working or playing, gaining a victory or smarting 
under a national humiliation, paying or being paid — still 
he must grumble, and, in fact, he is never so happy as 
when he is grumbling; and, supposing everything was 
to our satisfaction, (though it says a great deal for our 
power of assumption to assume any such absurd impossi- 
bility), still he would grumble at the fact of there being 
nothing for him to grumble about. 

There are two things about which we should never 
grumble : the first is that which we can not help, and the 
other that which we can help. The croakers are not all 
in the ponds, but they should be. 



PEEVISHNESS. 

Peevish people are always unjust, always exacting, 
always dissatisfied. They claim everything of others, 
yet receive their best efforts with petulance and disdain. 
Such men complain, too, of being ill-treated by their fel- 
lows. Ill-treated! The mildness of an angel and the 
patience of a saint could not treat these sour-tempered 
people in a manner that would satisfy them. The habit 



CHURLISHNESS. 141 

of peevishness grows upon a person until it renders him 
wholly incapable of conferring any happiness upon others. 
It distorts the imagination, and disorders the mind, so 
that truth cannot be distinguished from falsehood, or 
friendship from enmity. It is one great source of envy 
and discontent, poisoning the fountain of life, and scat- 
tering ruin and desolation on every side. Those who 
occupy their minds about anything serviceable to those 
around them are seldom peevish; it is only those who 
feed a disordered fancy with self-generated fiction, that 
become misanthropic or grumblers. Then incessant fault- 
finding arises, which is as annoying as it is unjust. Did 
peevish people know, or could they feel, the effect of 
their reproaches on others, those reproaches would never 
be made. But the possessor of a peevish turn of mind 
thinks of nothing but himself. For others he cares no- 
thing ; while he claims the greatest deference for himself, 
he will not defer to others in the slightest degree. 



CHURLISHNESS. 

Few characteristics are more unfortunate to the pos- 
sessor than this — few more repulsive and annoying to 
those with whom circumstances bring him in contact. 
Various definitions of what constitutes the churl have 
been given. His ugly temper and manner have furnished 
a theme to the satirist, as well as the moralist, in all times. 
In Isaiah he is described as a miser and a niggard. Lord 
Sidney portrayed him as a "rude, surly, ill-bred man." 
To these epithets Lord Bacon has added u ill-grained." 
But, although these definitions, as well as the etymology 
of the term itself, point to the male sex as the exclusive 
appropriators of churlishness, it would hardly do justice 
either to man or the truth, to admit that it is so confined 
in its malign range. For ourselves, we feel compelled to 
say that some churlish people are women. It is possible 
— even probable — that they impressed us the more un- 
favorably because of being found in the gentler and more 
kindly division of society, and therefore we are willing to 



142 CONTROVERSIES. 

modify our expression of opinion, and say that they so 
seemed to us. One cause, or at least encouragement, of 
churlishness is the mistake which some people appear to 
have made in confounding it with firmness. This is a 
mistake which shoots very wide of the mark, indeed. 
Firmness is a most praiseworthy quality of mind. Even 
when carried to the verge of stubbornness, there is not, 
necessarily, either wrong or rudeness in it. It may be 
accompanied by due deference to the feelings of others, 
and even with the courtesy of the Golden Rule itself. 
Churlishness is a disposition very different from firmness. 
The latter is heaven-approved. The former could only 
find commendation where the spirit of Social Evil held 
universal sway. Let the young avoid it, if they would 
experience happy and happifying lives ! 



CONTROVERSIES. 

Controversies, for the most part, leave truth in the 
middle, and are factions at both ends. Victory always 
inclines to him that contends the least. If your opinion 
be indefensible, do not obstinately defend a bad cause. 
He that argues against truth takes pains to be overcome. 
It is an excellent rule to be observed in all disputes, that 
men should give soft words, and hard arguments ; that 
they should not so much strive to vex, as to convince 
each other. Contradiction should awaken our attention 
and care, but not our passion ; we should be on no side, 
nor interest but that of truth. It is usually the case with 
obstinate persons, to regard neither truth in contradict- 
ing, nor benefit in disputing. Positiveness is a certain 
evidence of weak judgment. In a speech delivered in a 
public assembly, it is expected a man will use all his 
reasons in the cause he handleth ; but in private persua- 
sion, it is a great error. The surest way to persuade is 
to please. Passionate pursuits darken reason, but seldom 
enlighten our understanding. Contention benefits neither 
party. Time, the greatest calmer of human passions, 
softens the asperities of controversy. Wise and good 



QUARRELS. 143 

men will avoid controversy and disputation, as far as they 
can ; yet they must not determine against them, or con- 
demn them indiscriminately ; for when false teachers 
come in unawares to subvert men's souls ; when the fun- 
damental truths of the Gospel are opposed or perverted, 
and the principles of men are poisoned by pernicious 
tenets; we ought to "contend earnestly," (though in 
meekness,) " for the faith once delivered to the saints," 
and to decline controversy in such circumstances argues 
lukewarmness and cowardice, rather than meekness and 
wisdom. 



QUARRELS. 

The sourest cider is made from the apples of discord. 
Family feuds, violated friendships, and litigation with 
neighbors, are the banes of society. One unquiet, perverse 
disposition, distempers the peace and unity of a whole 
family or society ; as one jarring instrument will spoil a 
whole concert. The quarrels of relatives are most vio- 
lent. To avoid family quarrels, let the quarreling wretch 
have it all to himself ; reply never a word. A quarrel is 
like a spark, which can not be produced without a flint as 
well as a steel; either of them may hammer on wood 
forever, no fire will follow. Grandmother used to say 
to grandfather, "It is no use quarreling, my dear, when 
you know we must make it up again." He who espouses 
a quarrel is not to be envied in his nuptials. Never fear 
a man who threatens you with an injury ; the silent 
enemy is the most dangerous. Those who are ever ready 
to give the lie are generally not too brave to take quietly 
what they are not too civil to give. When two men dis- 
pute, you may be sure that there is a fool upon one side 
or the other; and the man who interferes between the 
two is generally a greater fool than either. When you 
dispute with a fool, he is very certain to be similarly em- 
ployed. Two things well considered would prevent 
many quarrels : first, to have it well ascertained whether 
we are not disputing about terms rather than things ; and 



144 INSULTS. 

secondly, to examine whether that on which we differ is 
worth contending about. In all differences, consider that 
both you and your enemy are dropping off, and that ere 
long your very memories will be extinguished. 



INSULTS. 

There are some people always looking out for slights. 
They can not pay a visit, they can not receive a friend, 
they can not carry on the daily intercourse of the family, 
without suspecting some offense is designed. They are 
as touchy as hair triggers. If they meet an acquaintance 
in the street who happens to be pre-occupied with busi- 
ness, they attribute his abstraction to some motive per- 
sonal to themselves, and take umbrage accordingly. 
They lay on others the fault of their own irritability. A 
fit of indigestion makes them see impertinence in every 
body they come into contact with. Innocent persons, 
who never dreamed of giving offense, are astonished to 
find some unfortunate word, or some momentary tacitur- 
nity, has been mistaken for an insult. To say the least, 
the habit is unfortunate. It is far wiser to take the more 
charitable view of our fellow beings, and not suppose a 
slight is intended, unless the neglect is open and direct. 
After all, too, life takes its hue, in a great degree, from 
the color of our own minds. If we are frank and gener- 
ous, the world treats us kindly. If, on the contrary, we 
are suspicious, men learn to be cold and cautious to us. 
Let a person get the reputation of being touchy, and 
every body is under more or less restraint in his or her 
presence ; and in this way the chances of an imaginary 
offense are vastly increased. Your people who fire up 
easily miss a deal of happiness. Their jaundiced tempers 
destroy their own comfort as well as that of their friends. 
They have forever some fancied slight to brood over. 
The sunny serene contentment of less selfish dispositions 
never visits them. The narrower a soul is the more 
easily it is crossed, 

Solon, being asked, Why, amongst his laws, there was 



INDIGNATION ANGER. 145 

not one against personal affronts? answered, He could 
not believe the world so fantastical as to regard them. 



INDIGNATION. 

We should be careful how we indulge in the feelings 
of a virtuous indignation. It is the handsome brother of 
anger and hatred. 



ANGER. 

There is no man obliged to live so free from passion 
as not to show some resentment ; and it is rather stoical 
stupidity than virtue, to do otherwise. Anger may glance 
into the breast of a wise man, but rests only in the bosom 
of fools. Fight hard against a hasty temper. Anger 
will come, but resist it strongly. A spark may set a 
house on fire. A fit of passion may give you cause to 
mourn, all the days of your life. Never revenge an in- 
jury. When Socrates found in himself any disposition 
to anger, he would check it by speaking low, in opposi- 
tion to the motions of his displeasure. If you are con- 
scious of being in a passion, keep your mouth shut, for 
words increase it. Many a person has dropped dead in 
a rage. Fits of anger bring fits of disease. "Whom the 
gods would destroy they first make mad," and the exam- 
ple is a good one for our imitation. If you would de- 
molish an opponent in argument, first make him as mad 
as you can. Dr. Fuller used to say that the heat of pas- 
sion makes our souls to crack, and the devil creeps in at 
the crevices. 

A passionate temper renders a man unfit for advice, 
deprives him of his reason, robs him of all that is either 
great or noble in his nature ; it makes him unfit for con- 
versation, destroys friendship, changes justice into cruelty, 
and turns all order into confusion. Says Lord Bacon : 
An angry man who suppresses his passions, thinks worse 
than he speaks ; and an angry man that will chide, speaks 

worse than he thinks. A wise man hath no more anger 
10 



146 ANGER. 

than is necessary to show that he can apprehend the first 
wrong, nor any more revenge than justly to prevent a 
second. One angry word sometimes raises a storm that 
time itself can not allay. There is many a man whose 
tongue might govern multitudes, if he could only govern 
his tongue. He is the man of power who controls the 
storms and tempests of his mind. He that will be angry 
for anything, will be angry for nothing. As some are 
often incensed without a cause, so they are apt to 
continue their anger, lest it should appear to their dis- 
grace to have begun without occasion. If we do not 
subdue our anger it will subdue us. It is the second 
word that makes the quarrel. That anger is not war- 
rantable that hath seen two suns. One long anger, and 
twenty short ones, have no very great difference. Our 
passions are like the seas, agitable by the winds ; and 
as God hath set bounds to these, so should we to those : 
so far shall thou go, and no farther. 

Dr. Arnold once lost all patience with a dull scholar, 
when the pupil looked up in his face and said: "Why do 
you speak angrily, sir ? Indeed, I am doing the best I 
can." Years after, the doctor used to tell the story to 
his own children, and say : "I never felt so ashamed of 
myself in my life. That look and that speech I have 
never forgotten." It does no good to get angry. Some 
sins have a seeming compensation or apology, a present 
gratification of some sort, but anger has none. A man 
feels no better for it. It is really a torment, and when 
the storm of passion has cleared away, it leaves one to 
see that he has been a fool. And he has made himself 
a fool in the eyes of others too. Who thinks well of an 
ill-natured, churlish man, who has to be approached in 
the most guarded and cautious way ? Who wishes him 
for a neighbor, or a partner in business ? He keeps all 
about him in nearly the same state of mind as if they 
were living next door to a hornet's nest or a rabid ani- 
mal. And as to prosperity in business, one gets along 
no better for getting angry. What if business is per- 
plexing, and everything goes u by contraries!" Will a 
fit of passion make the wind more propitious, the ground 



ANGER. . 147 

more productive, the market more favorable? Will a 
bad temper draw customers, pay notes, and make credi- 
tors better natured ? If men, animals, or senseless mat- 
ter cause trouble, will getting u mad" help matters? — 
make men more subservient, brutes more docile, wood and 
stone more tractable ? Any angry man adds nothing to 
the welfare of society. He may do some good, but more 
hurt. Heated passion makes him a firebrand, and it is a 
wonder that he does not kindle flames of discord on every 
hand. Without much sensibility, and often bereft of 
reason, he speaketh like the piercing of a sword, and his 
tongue is as an arrow shot out. He is a bad element in 
any community, and his removal would furnish occasion 
for a day of thanksgiving. Since, then, anger is useless, 
disgraceful, without the least apology, and found 'only 
in the bosom of fools,' why should it be indulged at all ? 

What men want of reason for their opinions, they are 
apt to supply and make up in rage. The most irrecon- 
cilable enmities grow from the most intimate friendships. 
To be angry with a weak man is to prove that you are 
not very strong yourself. It is much better to reprove 
than to be angry secretly. Anger, says Pythagoras, be- 
gins with folly and ends with repentance. 

In sickness our distemper makes us loathe the most 
natural meat ; in anger, our fury makes us resist courte- 
ous advice. 

He that is angry with the just reprover kindles the fire 
of the just avenger. Bad money cannot circulate through 
the veins and arteries of trade. It is a great pity that 
bad blood can circulate through the veins and arteries of 
the human frame. It seems a pity that an angry man, 
like the bees that leave their stings in the wounds they 
make, could inflict only a single injury. And, to a cer- 
tain extent, it is so, for anger has been compared to a 
ruin, which, in falling upon its victims, breaks itself to 
pieces. 

Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish 
them to be, since you cannot make yourself what you 
wish to be. 



148 RESENTMENT SUSPICION — JEALO UST. 

RESENTMENT. 

At every trifle scorn to take offense. Those who are 
careful to avoid offending others, are not apt to take 
offense themselves. 

If ever you hope that your charity should live after 
you, then let resentment die before you. 



SUSPICION. 

The weak man is continually fluttering between suspi- 
cion about the conduct of others, and vast surprise, even 
if his suspicions are verified. The wise man is less 
troubled by suspicions, and has read too much, and seen 
too much, to be greatly surprised at anything when it 
comes. Unprosperous persons are often suspicious: they 
take everything as an affront. Suspicion is the palsy of 
the heart : fear is a chain of ice upon the tongue. Half 
words are worse than silence ; and either is death to con- 
versation. A man, to be genuine, to be himself, must 
believe and be believed ; must trust and be trusted. 
The scowl of a doubt quenches the charm of conversation 
as quickly as the shadow of a hawk does the song of a 
bird. Suspicion is no less an enemy to virtue than to 
happiness. He that is already corrupt is naturally suspi- 
cious ; and he that becomes suspicious will quickly be 
corrupt. Suspicion is the child of guilt. Suspicion is 
the virtue of a coward. 

" Suspicion haunts the guilty mind ; 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer." 



JEALOUSY. 

Of all passions, jealousy is that which exacts the hardest 
service, and pays the bitterest wages. Its service is, to 
watch the success of our enemies ; its wages, to be sure 
of it. Jealousy violates contracts — dissolves society — 
breaks wedlock — betrays friends and neighbors — nobody 
is good — and every one is either doing or designing them 



JEALOUSY. 149 

a mischief. Its rise is guilt or ill-nature, and by reflec- 
tion it thinks its own faults to be other men's ; as he that 
is overrun with the jaundice takes others to be yellow. 
Avarice, ambition, terror, may have mercy ; but there is 
one passion lurks within the human breast whose very 
instinct is murder. Once lodged within the heart, for 
life it rules — ascendant and alone ! it sports in the soli- 
tude like an antic fiend ! It pants for blood, and rivers 
will not sate its thirst. Minds strongest in worth and 
valor stoop to meanness and disgrace before it. The 
meanest soul — the weakest — it can give courage to, be- 
yond the daring of despair ! What is the sting which no 
balm can assuage? What is the wound that death 
alone can heal ? Whose is the sword that, when once 
drawn, the scabbard must be cast away forever ? When 
is it that man has no ear but for the tale that falls like 
molten lead upon his ear ; no eye but for the plucked- 
out heart of him he hates ; no hand but for that clutch — 
that one last clutch — that grasps his dagger ? Who is it 
that has been wise, yet now will cast away reason ; was 
kind and pitiful, yet now mimics the humanity of the 
wild dog ? Who is it hews his foe to pieces— writes 
"Acquittal" on his tomb — and dies? That wretch is 
Jealous ! Pity him, whate'er his crimes. The gamester, 
whose last piece is lost — the merchant, whose whole risk 
the sea has swallowed up — the child, whose air-bubble 
has burst — may each create a bauble like the former ! 
But he whose treasure was in woman's love ; who trust- 
ed, as man once trusts, and was deceived ! — that hope 
once gone ! — weep — search — rave — despair — seek thy- 
self blind — there is again no finding — no restoring it ! 
Let not any too rigorously judge the conduct of a jeal- 
ous woman or a jealous man. Remember that the maniac 
suffers. To be sure, the suffering is from selfishness — 
often it is without a shadow of a cause ; but still it is 
suffering, and it is intense. Pity it — bear with it. You 
may yourself fall into temptation. It is a sorer curse, a 
more certain and fatal blight to the heart on which it 
seizes, than it can be to those against whom its spite is 
hurled. Then, while none should bend too far to the 



150 JEALOUSY. 

whims of jealousy, all should be patient with its victims. 
Jealousy is as cruel as the grave ; not the grave that 
opens its deep bosom to receive and shelter from further 
storms the worn and forlorn pilgrim who 'rejoices ex- 
ceedingly and is glad' when he can find its repose, but 
cruel as the grave is when it yawns and swallows down 
from the lap of luxury, from the summit of fame, from 
the bosom of love, the desire of many eyes and hearts. 
Jealousy is a two headed asp, biting backwards and for- 
wards. Among the deadly things upon the earth or in 
the sea, or flying through .the deadly night air of mala- 
rious regions, few are more noxious than is jealousy. 
And of all mad passions, there is not one that has a vision 
more distorted, or a more unreasonable fury. To the 
jealous eye, white looks black, yellow looks green, and 
the very sunshine turns deadly lurid. There is no inno- 
cence, no justice, no generosity, that is not touched with 
suspicion, save just the jealous person's own. And jeal- 
ousy is an utter folly, for it helps nothing and saves no- 
thing. If your friend's love is going, or gone to another, 
will your making yourself hateful and vindictive stay it 
or bring it back ? If it • is not leaving you, is there no 
risk in rendering yourself so unlovely ? 

A woman is either worth a great deal or she is worth 
nothing. If good for nothing, she is not worth getting 
jealous for ; if she is a true woman, she will give no cause 
for jealousy. A man is a brute to be jealous of a good 
woman — a fool to be jealous of a worthless one ; but he 
is a greater fool to cut his throat for either of them. 

There is but one thing in conjugal life worse than a 
jealous wife. The wife can tell what that is, 

" Trifles light as air, 
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ." — Shak. 

" They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis 
Begot upon itself, born on itself." — Ibid. 

" It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on."— Ibid. 



ENVY. 151 

ENVY. 

It has been said that, if we knew how little others en- 
joyed, it would rescne the world from one sin ; there 
would be no such thing as envy upon earth. Envy is, 
unquestionably, a high compliment, but a most ungra- 
cious one. An envious man repines as much at the man- 
ner in which his neighbors live, as if he maintained them. 
Some people as much envy others a good name, as they 
want it themselves ; and that is the reason of it. Envy 
is fixed on merit ; and, like a sore eye, is offended with 
anything that is bright. Envy increases in exact pro- 
portion with fame, the man that makes a character makes 
enemies. A radiant genius calls forth swarms of peevish, 
biting, stinging insects, just as the sunshine awakens the 
world of flies. Virtue is not secure against envy. Evil 
men will lessen what they wont imitate. If a man is 
good, he is envied ; if evil, himself is envious. Envious 
people are doubly miserable, in being afflicted with 
other's prosperity, and their own adversity. 

" Envy is but the smoke of low estate, 
Ascending still against the fortunate." — Brooke, 

It was Lord Bacon who said, A man that hath no vir 
tue in himself envieth it in others. Montaigne says, Other 
passions have objects to flatter them, and seem to content 
and satisfy them for a while ; there is power in ambition, 
pleasure in luxury, and pelf in covetousness ; but envy 
can give nothing but vexation. Envy is so base and de- 
testable, so vile in its origin, and so pernicious in its 
effects, that the predominance of almost any other quality 
is to be preferred. It is a passion so full of cowardice 
and shame, that nobody ever had the confidence to own 
it. He that envieth maketh another man's virtue his 
vice, and another's happiness his torment ; whereas, he 
that rejoice th at the prosperity of another, is partaker of 
the same. The surest sign of a noble disposition, is to 
have no envy in one's nature. To prevent envy, throw 
away your finery and increase your goodness. Remem- 
ber, envy is a sin that requires two to make, and in nine 
cases out of ten you are one of two. 



152 HARSHNESS. 

Envy, jealousy, scorpions and rattlesnakes, can be made 
to sting themselves to death. He whose first emotion on 
the view of an excellent production is to undervalue it, 
will never have one of his own to show. 



HARSHNESS. 

He who glories in wounding others will finally wound 
himself. A curse is like a stone thrown up to heaven, 
and most likely to return on the head of him who throws 
it. A hard person thinks it is enough if he does not 
speak ill of your children or other relatives : and then, 
with the greatest good will, and with a total inattention 
to your individual position, he will gallop over a thou- 
sand fine feelings and leave in every step the mark of his 
hoofs upon your heart. If all unkind and unjust words 
were arrows, like needles and pins; and if, instead of 
piercing the ear and then the heart, they flew against the 
bodies of those to whom they were directed, the children 
in some men's families would be like pin-cushions stuck 
full of sharp and painful weapons. "Don't write there," 
said one to a lad who was writing with a diamond pin on 
a pane of glass in the window of a hotel. u Why ?" said 
he. "Because you can't rub it out." There are other 
things which men should not do, because they cannot 
rub them out : a heart is aching for sympathy, and a cold, 
perhaps a heartless word is spoken. The impression may 
be more durable than that of the diamond upon glass. 
The inscription on the glass may be destroyed by the 
fracture of the glass, but the impression on the heart may 
last forever. On many a mind and many a heart there 
are sad inscriptions, deeply engraved, which no effort can 
erase. We should be careful what we write on the minds 
of others. Vehemence creates dislike; excessive mild- 
ness, contempt ; be neither so severe as to be hated, nor 
so tame as to be insulted. Bough men have all their 
seams on the outside ; and they rub against and incom- 
mode those who come in contact with them. Ferocity 
is sometimes assumed, as well as gentleness. There are 



HATRED. 153 

as many sheep in wolves' clothing as there are wolves in 
sheep's. It is the characteristic of weakness to be most sav- 
age in utterance when least capable of execution. Rash- 
ness will admit of nought for reason, but what unreason- 
able self shall dictate for reason. Say to a captious man 
that it is a fine day, and he will be sure to suggest some 
defect in it. He that can please nobody is not so much 
to be pitied as he that nobody can please. 



HATRED. 

Four good mothers have given birth to four bad daugh- 
ters : truth has produced hatred ; success, pride ; secu- 
rity, danger ; and familiarity, contempt. And, on the 
other hand, four bad mothers have produced as many 
good daughters : for astronomy is the offspring of astrol- 
ogy ; chemistry, of alchymy ; freedom, of oppression ; 
patience, of long-suffering. Dislike what deserves it, but 
never hate, for that is of the nature of malice, which is 
applied to persons, not things. We ought to divest our- 
selves of hatred, for the interest of our own quiet. We 
often hate, we know not why, without examining either 
the good or the bad qualities of the person ; and this sense- 
less aversion of ours will sometimes fall upon men of ex- 
traordinary merit. It is the business of reason to correct 
this blind passion, which is a reproach to it ; for is there 
anything more unjust, than to have an aversion to those 
that are an honor to human nature ? It is far from be- 
ing one of the best features of human nature, that, whilst 
we love those whom we have benefited, we often hate 
those who have benefited us. 

A man should not allow himself to hate even his ene- 
mies; because, if you indulge this passion in some oc- 
casions, it will rise of itself in others; if you hate 
your enemies, you will contract such a vicious habit of 
mind, as, by degrees, will break out upon those who are 
your friends, or to those who are indifferent to you. 

The only hate we are apt to bear with christian pati- 
ence, is the hate of those who envy us. There are two 



154 REPREHENSION AND REPROOF. 

things in which all, or nearly all sects agree — the hatred 
with which they pursue the errors of others, and the love 
with which they cling to their own. The hatred of those 
who are the most nearly connected is the most inveter- 
ate. At best, life is not very long. A few more smiles, 
a few more tears, some pleasure, much pain, sunshine and 
songs, clouds and darkness, hasty greetings, abrupt fare- 
wells — then our little play will close, and injurer and in- 
jured will pass away. Is it worth while to hate each 
other ? 



REPREHENSION AND REPROOF. 

There is much discretion to be observed in reprehen- 
sion : a word will do more with some than a blow with 
others. "A Venice glass is not to be rubbed so hard as 
a brazen kettle." The tender reed is more easily bowed 
than the sturdy oak. Dashing storms do but destroy the 
reed, while gentle showers nourish it. In reprehension we 
should always beware of carrying our teeth in our tongues, 
and of biting while we are speaking. Reprehension 
should tread upon the heels of transgression. The plas- 
ter should be applied as soon as the wound is received. 
It is easier to extinguish a flaming torch than a burning 
house. Gentle medicine will serve for a recent distem- 
per ; but chronic diseases require powerful remedies. 
How securely would David have slept if Nathan had not 
been sent to arouse him ! How far do many travel in 
the downward road for want of a wholesome friend to 
stop them in their journey. Private admonition is rather 
a proof of benevolence than of malevolence. The flam- 
ing sword of reprehension is but to keep us from the for* 
bidden fruit of transgresdon. Who knows how much 
the majesty of a reprover may tame the insolence of an 
offender ! Mark the reason which the Apostle assigns 
for gentle reproof: Considering thyself, lest thou also be 
tempted. Strive not with a man without cause. Blame 
not before thou hast examined the truth. Debate thy 
cause with thy neighbor himself, and divulge not a secret. 



INJURY. 155 

Be not hasty in drawing conclusions to the prejudice of 
another, before you form your opinion. Be perfectly 
satisfied with the correctness of your judgment. How 
many have heedlessly infused a drop of bitterness in the 
cup of one already overflowing with grief. 

" Regardless of wringing or breaking a heart, 
Already to sorrow resigned!" 

How many there are who check passion with passion, 
and are very angry in reproving anger ! Thus, to lay 
one devil they raise another ; and leave more work to be 
undone than they found to be done. Such a reproof of 
vice is a vice to be reproved. Reproof either hardens 
or softens its object. The sword of reproof should be 
drawn against the offense, and not against the offender. 
Reprove not a scorner, lest he hate thee. Those who 
merit praise can bear reproof best. 



INJURY. 

A little wrong done to another is a great injury done 
to ourselves. The severest punishment of an injury, is 
the conscience of having done it ; and no man suffers 
more than he that is given over to the pain of repentance. 
None more impatiently suffer injuries than those who are 
most forward in doing them. He that is not above an 
injury is below himself. The noblest remedy for inju- 
ries is oblivion. Light injuries are made lighter by not 
regarding them. It is better to forgive injuries than to 
retaliate. 

He is unwise and unhappy who never forgets the in- 
juries he may have received ; they are indented on his 
face, making the visage of the injured man frightful, like 
neglected wounds inflicted upon the stately tree, and 
which might have been effaced by the careful husband- 
man. They come home to his heart like, when the sun- 
shine of happiness would bless him, and throw him into a 
tumult that not easily subsides. The demon of hate 
reigns in his bosom, and makes him of all accountable 



156 EVIL. 

creatures the most miserable. Have you been injured in 
purse or character? Let the smiling angel of forgive- 
ness find repose in your bosom, and you will be fully re- 
venged, and what is of more consequence, your health 
and peace of mind will be improved. 

Better draw the cork of your indignation, and let it 
foam and fume, than wire it down to turn sour and acrid 
within. Sulks affect the liver, and are still worse for the 
heart and soul. Wrath driven in is as dangerous to the 
moral health as suppressed small-pox is to the animal 
system. Dissipate it by reflecting on the mildness, 
humility, and serenity, of better men than yourself, suf- 
fering under greater wrongs than you have ever been 
called upon to bear. 



EYIL. 



"Oftentimes to win us to our harm, 

The instruments of darkness tell us truths, 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
In deepest consequences " — Shaks. 

Beware of the beginning of evil. Here is your chief 
danger. It lies in venturing upon little indulgencies, 
and sins ; upon slight violations of conscience and duty. 
These are the germs of bad habits and ruined characters. 
If once allowed to take root within you, to spring up 
and bud, they will assuredly shed over your future years 
the bitter fruit of sorrow and shame. The devil never 
boldly enters the citadel of rectitude at the outset. He 
first walks around and passes by ; then holds a parley, 
and makes the worse appear the better reason ; and ends 
by gaining permission to walk in just once, promising, 
thenceforward, to cease his solicitations and keep aloof. 
But once admitted, he goes artfully at work to destroy 
all our defences, and, before we are aware of it, he is a 
permanent occupant of the citadel. "Early perversion 
of mind and morals," says Byron, "leads to satiety of 
past pleasures and disappointment in new ones. Even 
the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel, (ex- 
cept ambition, the most powerful of all excitements,) are 



BAD TEMPER. 157 

lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected." If 
you have been tempted into evil, fly from it ; it is not 
falling into the water, but lying in it, that drowns. In 
the commission of evil, fear no man so much as thy own 
self. Another is but one witness against thee ; thou art 
a thousand. Another thou may'st avoid, but thyself thou 
canst not. Wickedness is its own punishment. The 
evil which issues from the mouth falls into thy bosom. 
A man with an evil habit fixed in his soul is as badly off 
as a nut with a worm in its kernel. 

No man can lay himself under an obligation to do an 
ill thing. Pericles, when one of his friends importuned 
his service in an unjust matter, excused himself, saying, 
I am a friend as far as the alter. 

A sinner can do much evil, but he can suffer none. 
A saint can suffer much evil, but he will do none. There 
are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil, to one 
who is striking at the root. Evil spirits fight hard to 
keep man in their societies, and under their influences. 



BAD TEMPER. 

A bad temper is a curse to the possessor, and its influ- 
ence is most deadly, wherever it is found. It is allied to 
martyrdom, to be obliged to live with one of a complain- 
ing temper. To hear one perpetual round of complaint 
and murmering, to have every pleasant thought scared 
away by this evil spirit, is a sore trial. It is like the 
sting of a scorpion, a perpetual nettle destroying your 
peace, rendering life a perpetual burden. Its influence 
is deadly ; and the purest and sweetest atmosphere is 
contaminated into a deadly miasma, wherever this evil 
genius prevails. It has been said truly, that while we 
ought not to let the bad temper of others influence us, it 
would be as unreasonable to spread a blister upon the 
skin, and not expect it to draw, as to think of a family 
not suffering because of the bad temper of any of its in- 
mates. One string out of tune will destroy the music of 
an instrument otherwise perfect ; so, if all the members 



158 BAD TEMPER, 



of a church, neighborhood, and family, do not cultivate 
a kind and affectionate temper, there will be discord and 
every evil work. 

Fools, lunarians, the weak-minded, and the ignorant are 
irascible, impatient, and of ungovernable temper : great 
hearts and wise, are calm, forgiving and serene. The 
most imperturbable, and the ablest disputer of his age, 
was the Scotchman, Henderson. When a glass of water 
was thrown in his face, by the ungovernable rage into 
which an antagonist had allowed himself to be thrown by 
the anticipation of inevitable defeat, the Scotchman calm- 
ly wiped his dripping cheeks, and remarked with a smile, 
" That is a diversion : let us proceed with the argument." 
It is said of one of the ablest men of a past century, that, 
having completed the manuscript of a work which he had 
been preparing for several years, he left his room for a 
few moments to find, on returning, that a favorite little 
dog had, in his absence, turned over the candle, and re- 
duced his writings to ashes ; on observing which, he ex- 
claimed, "Oh! Diamond, little dost thou know the injury 
thou hast done ;" and immediately set about the repara- 
tion of the damages. Philip the Second, after having 
sat up to a late hour in the night to complete some im- 
portant state papers, waked up one of his drowsy secre- 
taries, who was so flurried at this breach of duty, that he 
dashed the contents of the inkstand over the manuscript, 
instead of the sand box. "It would have been better to 
have used the sand," was royalty's remark, on sitting 
down to the reproduction of the document. Washing- 
ton, when high in command, provoked a man to knock 
him down. The next day he sent for the person to ap- 
pear at headquarters, and asked his pardon ! for, in review- 
ing the incidents of the case, he found that he was him- 
self at fault. A magnanimity only possible to a truly 
great mind; but it is a magnanimity, a self-control, a 
mastery of temper, which it is a nobility to strive for. 

Unsociable tempers are contracted in solitude, which 
will in the end not fail of corrupting the understanding 
as well as the manners, and of utterly disqualifying a 
man for the satisfactions and duties of life. Men must 



MEDDLING — GOSSIP. 159 

be taken as they are, and we neither make them or our- 
selves better by flying from or quarreling with them. A 
sensible woman, the mother of a young family, taught 
her children, from the earliest childhood, to consider ill 
humor as a disorder which was to be cured by physic. 
Accordingly, she had always small doses ready, and the 
little patients, whenever it was thought needful, took 
rhubarb for the crossness. No punishment was required. 
Peevishness or ill temper and rhubarb were associated 
in their minds always as cause and effect. 



MEDDLING. 

Neglecting our own affairs and meddling with those 
of others, are the sources of many troubles. Those who 
blow the coals of other's strife, may chance to have the 
sparks fly in their own faces. We think more of our- 
selves than of others, but sometimes more for others than 
ourselves. The folly of interfering betwixt man and wo- 
man is thus gramatically put : 

"When man and wife at odds fall out 

Let syntax be your tutor ; 
'Twixt masculine and feminine, 

W hat should one be but neuter ? 



GOSSIP. 

The common fluency of speech, in many men, and 
most women, is owing to a scarcity of matter, and a 
scarcity of words ; for whoever is master of a language, 
and has a mind full of ideas, will be apt, in speaking, to 
hesitate upon the choice of both; whereas, common 
speakers have only one set of ideas, and one set of words 
to clothe them in ; and these are always ready at the 
mouth ; so people can come faster out of a church when it 
is almost empty, than when a crowd is at the door. Gos- 
sip is the bane of social life ; always indicating a little 
mind having affinity with petty concerns ; often a mali- 
cious mind, delighting in traducing others ; irreverance 



160 CENSURE. 

for truth, risking the violation of it for the pleasure of 
telling stories, which may be false, often are known to be 
so ; great lack of honor, a sneaking disposition, saying 
behind the back of another what would not be said be- 
fore his face ; presumptive want of power to talk on no- 
bler subjects — at least, lack of interest in them. Male 
gossips are worse than female. Women gossip chiefly 
about domestic life, love, marriage, flirtations, servants, 
entertainments — and a world of mischief they do there 
— of heart-burnings, heart-sighings, and heart-breakings 
— of broken ties and alienated affections. But men gos- 
sip, too. Oh! what keen, biting, withering gossipings 
they have — half untrue, wholly needless ; full of envy, 
hatred, and all uncharitableness. There is, perhaps, not 
a more odious character in the world than that of a go- 
between — by which, I mean, the creature who carries to 
the ear of one neighbor every injurious observation that 
happens to drop from the mouth of another. Such a 
person is the slanderer's herald, and is altogether more 
odious than the slanderer himself. By this vile officious- 
ness he makes that poison effective which else would be 
inert; for three-fourths of the slanderers in the world 
would never injure their object, except by the malice of 
go-betweens, who, under the mask of a double friendship, 
act the part of double traitor. The less business a man 
has of his own, the more he attends to the business of 
his neighbors. Busy-bodies are always idlers. Sweep 
first before your own door, e're you sweep before your 
neighbor's. 



CENSURE. 

Censure is the tax a man pays the public for being 
eminent. It is folly for an eminent man to think of 
escaping censure, and a weakness to be affected with it. 
Maximus said, He was a greater coward that was afraid 
of reproach, than he that would flee from his enemies. 
The failings of good men are commonly more published 
in the world than their good deeds ; and one fault of a 



FAULT FINDING. 161 

well-deserving man will meet with more reproaches than 
all his virtues, praise ; such is the force of ill-will and ill- 
nature. It is harder to avoid censure than to gain ap- 
plause : for this may be done by one great or wise action 
in an age ; but, to escape censure, a man must pass his 
whole life without saying or doing one ill or foolish thing. 
Philip, of Macedon, said : He was beholden to the Athe- 
nian orators for reproving him ; for he would endeavor, 
both by words and actions, to make them liars. And 
Plato, on hearing it was asserted by some persons, 
that he was a very bad man, said, I shall take care to live 
so that nobody will believe them. A clear conscience 
fears no accusation. There is no contending with neces- 
sity ; and we should be very tender how we censure 
those that submit to it. It is one thing to be at liberty 
to do what we will, and another thing to be tied up to 
do what we must. Blame not before you understand the 
matter : understand first, and then rebuke. They who 
deserve most blame, are apt to blame first. Judge not 
rashly. Alas! how unreasonable as well as unjust a thing 
it is for any to censure the infirmities of another, when 
we see that even good men are not able to dive through 
the mystery of their own ! Be assured there can be but 
little honesty, without thinking as well as possible of 
of others, and there can be no safety without thinking 
humbly and distrustfully of ourselves. It belongs not to 
our humble and confined station to censure, but to adore, 
submit and trust. 



FAULT FINDING. 

Never employ yourself to discover the faults of others 
— look to your own. You had better find out one of 
your own faults than ten of your neighbors. When a 
thing does not suit you, think of some pleasant quality 
in it. There is nothing so bad as it might be. When- 
ever you catch yourself in a fault-finding remark, say 
some approving one in the same breath, and you will 

soon be cured. Since the best of us have too many in 
ll 



162 FAULT FINDING. 

firmities to answer for, says Dean Swift, we ought not to 
be too severe upon those of others ; and, therefore, if 
our brother is in trouble, we ought to help him, without 
inquiring over seriously what produced it. 

Those who have the fewest resources in themselves 
naturally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. The 
most ignorant people find most to laugh at in strangers ; 
scandal and satire prevail most in small places ; and the 
propensity to ridicule the slightest or most palpable de- 
viation from what we happen to approve, ceases with 
the progress of common sense and decency. True worth 
does not exult in the faults and deficiency of others ; as 
true refinement turns away from grossness and deformity, 
instead of being tempted to indulge in an unmanly tri- 
umph over it. Raphael would not faint away at the 
daubing of a sign-post, nor Homer hold his head higher 
for being in the company of a "great bard." Real power, 
real excellence does not seek for a foil in imperfection ; 
nor fear contamination from coming in contact with that 
which is coarse and homely. It reposes on itself, and is 
equally free from envy and affectation. There are some 
persons who seem to treasure up things that are disagree- 
able, on purpose. I can understand how a boy that never 
had been taught better might carry torpedoes in his 
pocket, and delight to throw them down at the feet of 
passers by and see them bound ; but I can not understand 
how an instructed and well-meaning person could do 
such a thing. And yet there are men who. carry tor- 
pedoes all their life, and take pleasure in tossing them at 
people. u 0h," they say, "I have something now, and 
when I meet that man I will give it to him." And they 
wait for the right company, and the right circumstances, 
and then they out with the most disagreeable things. 
And if they are remonstrated with, they say, "It is true," 
as if that was a justification of their conduct. If God 
should take all the things that are true of you, and make 
a scourge of them, and whip you with it, you would be 
the most miserable of men. But he does not use all the 
truth on you. And is there no law of kindness ? Is 
there no desire to please and profit men ? Have you a 



FAULT FINDING. 163 

right to take any little story that you can pick up about 
a man, and use it in such a way as to injure him, or give 
him pain ? And yet, how many men there are that seem 
to enjoy nothing so much as inflicting exquisite suffering 
upon a man in this way, when he can not help himself ! 
Well, you know just how the devil feels. Whenever he 
has done anything wicked, and has made somebody very 
unhappy, and laughs, he feels just as, for the time being, 
you feel when you have done a cruel thing, and some- 
body is hurt, and it does you good. 

Many persons are particularly spiteful against those 
foibles in others which they themselves have. They re- 
mind us of a monkey scratching, and grinning at the 
mimic monkey in the glass. Gotthold had a little dog, 
which, when placed before a mirror, became instantly 
enraged, and barked at his own image. He remarked 
on the occasion : u In general, a mirror serves as an ex- 
citement to self-love, whereas it stimulates this dog to 
anger against itself. The animal can not conceive that 
the figure it sees is only its own reflection, but fancies 
that it is a strange dog, and therefore will not suffer it 
to approach its master. This may remind us of an infir- 
mity of our depraved hearts. We often complain of 
others, and take offense at the things they do against us, 
without reflecting that, for the most part, the blame lies 
with ourselves. Men behave ill to us because we behave 
ill to them. Our children are forward because they have 
inherited and learned forwardness from us. . We are an- 
gry with them, yet they are our own image." " Men look 
at the faults of others with a telescope — at their own with 
the same instrument reversed, or not at all. His good 
deeds are never thought of, whereas his evil ones are 
everywhere told and exagerated. It is so much easier 
to see small faults than large virtues. u Having, in my 
youth, notions of severe piety," says a celebrated Persian 
writer, "I used to rise in the night to watch and pray, 
and read the Koran. One night, as I was engaged in 
these exercises, my father, a man of practical virtue, 
awoke while I was reading." u Behold," said I to him, 
u the other children are lost in irreligious slumber, while 



164 FAULT FINDING. 

I alone awake to praise God." "Son of my soul," said he, 
u it is better to sleep, than wake to mark the faults of thy 
brethren." 

There is as much wisdom in bearing with other peo- 
ple's defects, as in being sensible of their good qualities ; 
and we should make the follies of others rather a warn- 
ing and instruction to ourselves, than a subject of mirth 
and mockery of those that commit them. To judge im- 
partially, we are to put men's good qualities in the bal- 
ance against their bad ones ; and if the scales of the first 
outweighs, the latter ought not to be brought into ac- 
count. By the rules of justice, no man ought to be ridi- 
culed for any imperfection, who does not set up for emi- 
nent sufficiency in that wherein he is defective. If thou 
would'st bear thy neighbor's faults, cast thy eyes upon 
thine own. 

It is easier to avoid a fault than to acquire a perfection. 
By others' faults wise men correct their own. He that 
contemns a small fault commits a great one. The great- 
est of all faults is, to believe we have none. Little minds 
ignore their own weakness, and carp at the defects of 
the great ; but great minds are sensible of their own 
faults, and largely compassionate toward inferiors. 

What a world of gossip would be prevented, if it was 
only remembered, that a person who tells you the faults 
of others intends to tell others of your faults. Every one 
has his faults ; every man his ruling passion. The eye 
that sees all things sees not itself. That man hath but 
an ill life of it, who feeds himself with the faults and 
frailties of other people. Were not curiosity the pur- 
veyor, detraction would soon be starved into tanie- 
ness. 

There are no such disagreeable people in the world as 
those who are forever seeking their own improvement, 
and disquieting themselves about this fault and that; 
while, on the other hand, there is an unconscious merit 
which wins more good than all the theoretically virtuous 
in the wide world. Those who speak of no deficiencies 
in either themselves or others, but who are necessarily 



FEAR PREJUDICE. 165 

modest, because they only take what their hands find to 
do, and do it with their might. 



FEAR. 

There is but one way of fortifying the soul against all 
gloomy presages and terrors of mind ; and that is, by 
securing to ourselves the friendship and protection of 
that Being who disposes of events and governs futurity. 
'Tis the fancy, not the reason of things, that makes us so 
uneasy. It is not the place, nor the condition, but the 
mind alone, that can make anybody happy or miserable, 
The apprehension of evil is many times worse than the 
evil itself; and the ills a man fears he shall suffer, he suf- 
fers in the very fear of them. 'Tis virtue only that re- 
pels fear, and fear only that makes life troublesome. 

Fear, unbalanced by hope, is desperation. Miseries 
are endless, if we stand in fear of all possibilities. No- 
thing has a more powerful effect on the heart than love 
or fear : the former may smother life by sudden depres- 
sion, and the latter drive it out by over excitement, 

Fear is a prodigious magnifier, especially when it has 
been excited by any unusual object. No traveler ever 
saw a small tiger ; no landsman ever experienced a gale 
at sea that was not a tornado. 



PREJUDICE. 

We hate some persons because we do not know them ; 
and we will not know them, because we hate them. 
Those friendships that succeed to such aversions are un- 
usually firm, for those qualities must be sterling that 
could not only gain our hearts but conquer our preju- 
dices. But the misfortune is, that we carry these pre- 
judices into things far more serious than our friendships. 
Thus there are truths which some men despise, because 
they have not examined, and which they will not ex- 
amine because they despise. There is one single instance 
on record where this kind of prejudice was overcome by 



166 ■ ERROR. 

a miracle ; — but the age of miracles is past, while that of 
prejudice remains. Our passions and prejudices ever 
mislead us. A curate and his wife had heard that the 
moon was inhabited ; a telescope was borrowed, and the 
lady had the first peep. " I see," said she, U I see two 
shades inclining towards each other ; they are, beyond 
doubt, happy lovers." "Poh!" said the curate, looking 
in his turn, "these two shades are the two steeples of a 
cathedral." All innovation upon established customs is 
invariably and sturdily resisted, and men are known to 
fight for their prejudices who would never fight for their 
country. Prejudices are like rats, and a man's mind like 
a trap ; they get in easily, and then perhaps can't get 
out at all. 



ERROR. 

It is no diminution to have been in the wrong. Per- 
fection is not the attribute of man. When a man owns 
himself to be in an, error, he does but tell you, in other 
words, that he is wiser than he was. No errors are so 
trivial but they deserve to be mended, and no sin is so 
slight but it should be repented of and renounced. Small 
transgressions become great by frequent repetition ; as 
small expenses, multiplied, insensibly waste a large re- 
venue. A great part of mankind employ their first years 
to make their last miserable. One false step, one wrong 
habit, one corrupt companion, one loose principle, may 
wreck all your prospects, and all the hopes of those w^ho 
love you. The error of one moment often becomes the 
sorrow of a whole life. The best things, when corrupted, 
become the worst. He that hinders not a mischief when 
it is in his power is guilty of it. As the shadow follows 
the body in the splendor of the fairest sunlight, so will 
the wrong done to another pursue the soul in the hours 
of prosperity. 

The day is past wlien custom could procure acquies- 
cence ; antiquity, reverence ; or power, obedience to er- 
ror ; and, although error, and that of the most bold and 
dangerous kind, has her worshipers in the very midst 



WASHINGTON IX THE WRONG. 167 

of us, yet it is simply and solely because they mistake 
error for truth. 

" Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just; 
And he but naked, though locked up in steel, 
"Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted." 

''Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again : 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But error, Avounded, writhes in pain. 

And dies amid her worshipers." 



WASHINGTON. IX THE WRONG. 

In 1754, "Washington was stationed at Alexandria with 
his regiment, the only one of the colony, of which he 
was colonel. There happened to be at this time an elec- 
tion in the town for the members of the Assembly, and 
the contest ran high between Col. George Fairfax and 
Mr. Elzey. Washington was a warm friend of Col. Fair- 
fax, and Mr. Payne headed the friends of Mr. Elzey. A 
dispute taking place in the court-house yard, Washing- 
ton, at this time not twenty-two years of age, contrary 
to his usual manner, became excited, and, what was still 
more uncommon, said something that offended Mr. Payne. 
whereupon the little gentleman, though but a cub in 
size, raised his sturdy hickory, and by a single blow 
brought him to the ground. Several of Washington's 
officers being present they whipped out their irons in an 
instant, and it was supposed there would be murder off- 
hand. To make bad worse, the members of the regi- 
ment, hearing how their commander had been treated, 
bolted out of the barracks, every man with his weapon, 
threatening vengeance on those who had dared to knock 
down their beloved commander. Happily for Mr. Payne 
and his party, Washington recovered in time enough to 
go out and meet his enraged soldiers, and after thanking 
them for their expressions of attachment, assured them 
that he was not hurt in the least, and begged them, as 
they loved him and their duty, to return to their bar- 
racks. As to Washington himself, he went to his room, 
and finding, on maturer reflection, that he had been the 



168 EGOTISM. 

aggressor, lie determined to make Mr. Payne honorable 
reparation by asking his pardon on the morrow. No 
sooner had he made his noble resolution than he recov- 
ered his natural calmness of manner, dressed himself, and 
went to a ball, behaving as if nothing had happened. 
The next day he went to the tavern and wrote a polite 
note to Mr. Payne, requesting to see him. Mr. Payne 
presumed the import of it was a challenge for a duel, 
and repaired to the place appointed for the meeting, ex- 
pecting to see a pair of pistols introduced. But con- 
ceive his surprise when, upon entering the chamber where 
Washington was, he discovered a decanter of wine and 
glasses upon the table. Upon his entering, Washington 
arose, and in a very friendly manner met him, and pre- 
sented him his hand, saying : u Mr. Payne, to err some- 
times is nature, to rectify error is always glory. I find 
I was wrong in the affair of yesterday ; you have had, I 
think, some satisfaction, and if you think that is suffi- 
cient, here is my hand: let us befriends." It is only 
necessary for us to say, that from that time Mr. Payne 
became one of Washington's most enthusiastic admirers 
and friends. If this conduct had not been deemed in 
Washington to arise from magnanimity and not from 
fear, then he could not have become the immortal hero 
he is regarded in history. 



EGOTISM. 

When a man says, "I would not be egotistical," he 
might as well add, "if I could help it." "We dislike 
egotism in others," says Dr. Hebbard, "simply because 
of our own. It is a slight when we are by, that one 
should talk of himself or seek to entertain us with his 
own interest instead of asking us of ours." There are 
some men whose opposition can be reckoned upon against 
everything that has not emanated from themselves. He 
that falls in love with himself will have no rivals. The 
reason why egotists find the world so ugly is because 



VANITY. 1 69 

they only see themselves in it. An egotist is especially 
hated by all other egotists. 

"Self-love is not so great a sin as self -neglecting." — Shaks, 



VANITY. 

Ostentation diminishes the merit of an action. He that 
is vain enough to cry up himself, ought to be punished 
with the silence of others. We soil the splendor of our 
most beautiful actions by our vain-glorious magnifying 
them. There is no vice or folly that requires so much 
nicety and skill to manage as vanity; nor any which by 
ill management makes so contemptible a figure. The 
desire of being thought wise, is often a hindrance to be- 
ing so ; for such an one is more solicitous to let the world 
see what knowledge he hath than to learn that which he 
wants. Men are found to be vainer on account of those 
qualities which they fondly believe they have, than of 
those which they really have. Some would be thought 
to do great things, who are but tools or instruments ; 
like the fool who fancied he played upon the organ, 
when he only drew the bellows. 

Be not so greedy of popular applause, as to forget that 
the same breath which blows up a fire may blow it out 
again. Yanity, like laudanum, and other poisonous 
medicines, is beneficial in small, though injurious in large 
quantities. Be not vain of your want of vanity. When 
you hear the phrase, "I may say without vanity," you 
may be sure some characteristic vanity will follow in the 
same breath. 

Every man has as much vanity as he wants understand- 
ing. How many women prefer ostentation to happiness ! 
The vain man idolizes his own person, and here he is 
wrong ; but he cannot bear his own company, and here 
he is right. Pass through a crowd of boys busy with 
fire-crackers, and you will see how much more fond each 
lad is of his own particular noise than that of his com- 
panions. The same thing may be observed among pub- 



170 PRIDE. 

lie speakers and private talkers. The most worthless 
things are sometimes most esteemed. 

It is not all the world that can pull an humble man 
down, because God will exalt him. Nor is it all the world 
that can keep a proud man up, because God will debase 
him. Sir J. Sinclair, on one occasion, was invited, by 
Lord Mellville, then high in office, to spend New Year's 
Day with him. Sir John arrived the day before, and in 
the morning repaired to the chamber of his host to wish 
him a happy New Year. " It had need be happier than 
the last," replied Lord M., u for I can not recollect a 
single happy day in it." This was the man who was the 
envy of many, being considered at the height of worldly 
prosperity ! 

A seeming modesty is a surer evidence of vanity than 
a moderate degree of assurance. Vanity, of all the pas- 
sions, is the most unsocial. When young men are once 
dyed in pleasure and vanity, they will scarcely take any 
other color. Half the errors attributed to love have their 
source in vanity ; and many a person has made sacrifices 
to this unworthy passion, who would have successfully 
resisted pleadings of affection. 

"But yesterday the word of Csesar might 

Have stood against the world, now lies he there, 

And none so poor to do him reverence," 



PRIDE. 

A false pride is the most cankering and bitter trait 
that possesses the heart of man, and has ruined more 
souls than any other vice, for it may be set down as 
their chief. What leads the humble trader with limit- 
ed income to far outlive his means, and spend his profits 
in the support of a costly house in a more costly situa- 
tion ? Pride. What isolates a man from the genial and 
cheerful intercourse of his fellow-men ? Pride. What 
leads a sensitive mind, when sorely pressed by misfor- 
tune, and bowed down by disappointment, to end this 
life by self-destruction ? Pride. What is that which 



PRIDE. 171 

undermines and gnaws at the root of every virtue ? 
False pride. There is an honest pride, such as makes 
one ashamed to do an evil act — such a degree of self- 
esteem as makes one above doing an injury to any one ; 
but it is the pride which sets one above his fellows that 
we deprecate ; that spirit which would demand homage 
to itself as better and greater than others. In the name 
of good sense how can any one feel thus, when it is re- 
alized that the entire life of a man is but a moment in 
the scale of eternity — and that in a few short days, at 
most, we must all go from here. When the soul is about 
to depart, what avails it whether a man dies upon a 
throne or in the dust ? 

Pride is like an empty bag, and who can stand such a 
thing upright? It is hollow and heartless, and, like a 
drum, makes the more noise for its very emptiness. What 
is therein us to induce such a sentiment? Who can say 
with truth, "I am better than my neighbor?" Some 
shrewd philosopher has said, that if the best man's faults 
were written on his forehead, they would make him pull 
his hat over his eyes ! Ah, there is so much of good in 
those who are evil, and so much that is bad in the best, 
that it ill becomes us to judge our neighbors harshly, or 
set ourselves up for saints at their expense. Let those 
who feel above their fellows, view the heights above 
themselves, and realize their littleness ; for as there is 
none so vile but that a viler hath been known, so there 
is no saint but a holier can be named. Let us, dear 
reader, guard our hearts, that no such principle may 
enter there, and we shall thus be protecting our own 
happiness and peace of mind, and set an example to 
others becoming us as good Christians and useful citi- 
zens ; and when we see those deluded mortals arrogate 
to themselves all that is great, such as hold themselves 
the salt of the earth, we must remember that God will 
surely melt the frozen, snow-capped cliffs of pride like an 
iceberg in the tropics ! 

Pride must have a fall. Solomon said, pride goeth be- 
fore destruction. Of all human actions, pride the most 
seldom obtains its end ; for while it aims at honor and 



172 PRIDE. 

reputation, it reaps contempt and derision. Pride and 
ill-nature will be hated in spite of all the wealth and 
greatness in the world. Civility is always safe, but pride 
creates enemies. As liberality makes friends of enemies, 
so pride makes enemies of friends. Says Dean Swift, if 
a proud man makes me keep my distance, the comfort is, 
he at the same time keeps his. Proud men have friends 
neither in prosperity, because they know nobody ; nor in 
adversity, because nobody knows them. Pride is gen- 
erally the effect of ignorance ; for pride and folly attend 
each other. Ignorance and pride keep constant com- 
pany. Pride, joined with many virtues, chokes them all. 
Pride is the bane of happiness. Some people, says 
L'Estrange, are all quality. You would think they were 
made of nothing but title and genealogy. The stamp of 
dignity defaces in them the very character of humanity ; 
and transports them to such a degree of haughtiness, 
that they reckon it below themselves to exercise either 
good nature or good manners. It is related of the French 
family of the Duke de Levis, that they have a picture in 
their pedigree in which Noah is represented going into 
the ark, and carrying a small trunk, on which is written, 
"Papers belonging to the Levis family." Pride is the 
mist that vapors round insignificance. We can conceive 
of nothing so little or ridiculous as pride. It is a mix- 
ture of insensibility and ill-nature, in which it is hard to 
say which has the largest share. Pride is as loud a beg- 
gar as want, and a great deal more saucy. Knavery and 
pride are often united; the Spartan boy was dishonest 
enough to steal a fox, but proud enough to let the beast 
eat out his vitals sooner than hazard detection. Pride 
breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and sup- 
ped with Infamy. Pride had rather at any time go out 
of the way than come behind. 

Likeness begets love, yet proud men hate each other. 
Pride makes us esteem ourselves ; vanity makes us desire 
the esteem of others. It is just to say, that a man is too 
proud to be vain. The pride of wealth is contemptible ; 
the pride of learning is pitiable ; the pride of dignity is 
ridiculous; but the pride of bigotry is unsupportable. 



PRIDE. 173 

To be proud of knowledge, is to be blind in the light ; 
to be proud of virtue, is to poison yourself with the anti- 
dote ; to be proud of authority, is to make your rise 
your downfall. The sun appears largest when about to 
set, so does a proud man swell most magnificently just 
before an explosion. There is but one pride pardonable : 
that being above doing a base or dishonorable action. He 
who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, nor any 
below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or 
assuming in a wrong place. Pride often miscalculates, 
and more often misconceives. The proud man places 
himself at a distance from other men ; seen through that 
distance, others perhaps appear little to him ; but he 
forgets that this very distance causes him to appear 
equally little to others. The disesteem and contempt of 
others is inseparable from pride. It is hardly possible 
to overvalue ourselves but by undervaluing our neigh- 
bors, and we commonly most undervalue those who are 
by other men thought to be wiser than we are ; and it 
is a kind of jealousy in ourselves that we are so, which 
provokes our pride. The best kindness of a proud man 
has often such a mixture of arrogancy, that his greatest 
obligations are rendered ungracious to a worthy receiver. 
A proud man hath vexation or fretting enough. He is 
his own castigator — necessarily so ; nobody covets his 
company. The vanity of those distinctions on which 
mankind pride themselves will be sufficiently apparent, if 
we consider the three places in which all men must meet 
on the same level — at the foot of the cross, in the grave, 
and at the judgment bar. We are proud of a body fat- 
tening for worms and pampered for corruption and the 
grave. Worldly glory ends with the world ; and for what 
concerns us the world ends with our lives. What have 
we to be proud of ? Are not all things perishable ? The 
time of flourishing pride is soon past, and our little great- 
ness is lost in eternity. A death-bed figure is certainly 
the most humbling sight in the world. To set in so dark 
a cloud, and to go off with languor, convulsions, and de- 
formity, is a terrible rebuke to the pride of human na- 
ture. The proudest man on earth is but a pauper fed 



174 PRIDE. 

and clothed by the bounty and charity of heaven. No 
two feelings of the human mind are more opposite than 
pride and humility. Pride is founded on a high opinion 
of ourselves ; humility on the consciousness of the want 
of merit. Pride is the offspring of ignorance ; humility 
is the child of wisdom. Pride hardens the heart ; humil- 
ity softens the temper and the disposition. Pride is deaf 
to the clamors of conscience ; humility listens with rev- 
erence to the monitor within ; and finally, pride rejects the 
counsels of reason, the voice of experience, the dictates 
of religion ; while humility, with a docile spirit, thank- 
fully receives instruction from all who address her in 
the garb of truth. Of all trees, says Feltham, I observe 
God hath chosen the vine — a low plant that creeps upon 
the helpful wall ; of all beasts, the soft and pliant lamb ; 
of all fowls, the mild and guileless dove. When God 
appeared to Moses, it was not in the lofty cedar, nor in 
the spreading palm, but a bush, an humble, abject bush. 
As if he would, by these selections, check the conceited 
arrogance of man. Nothing produces love like humility ; 
nothing hate, like pride. 

Pride and poverty, when combined, make a man's life 
up hill work. Pomposity in a hovel. A gaudy parlor, 
meagre kitchen, and empty cupboard! Ragged aristoc- 
racy ! What shifts there are among this class to hide 
their rags, and to give everything a golden tiuge. Among 
them you see a rich frosted cake and red wine in the 
parlor, and a dry crust, dryer codfish, and bad coffee in 
the kitchen. Broadcloth hides a ragged shirt. Polished 
boots hide tattered stockings. Fortune's toys, she kicks 
them about as she likes. The higher they look the lower 
they sink. The gaudy side out, rags and starvation 
within. Oh ! the pangs of pride ! What misery is here 
covered up. Smiles abroad, tears at home. An eternal 
war with want on one hand, and proud ambition on the 
other. This trying to be "somebody," and this forget- 
ting that it is not necessary to be gold-washed, and to 
have a silver spoon in one's mouth, in order to reach that 
envied good in life's journey. There are plenty of "some- 
bodies" among the honest poor, and plenty of "nobodies" 



poverty's answer to pride. 175 

among the dainty rich. Pride and poverty are the most 
ill-sorted companions that can meet. They live in a state 
of continual warfare, and the sacrifices they exact from 
each other, like those claimed by enemies to establish a 
hollow peace, only serve to increase their discord. 

There are as good horses drawing in carts as in coaches ; 
and as good men are engaged in humble employments as 
in the highest. The best way to humble a proud man 
is to take no notice of him. Men are sometimes accused 
of pride, merely because their accusers would be proud 
themselves if they were in their places. There are those 
who despise pride with a greater pride. To quell the 
pride, even of the greatest, we should reflect how much 
we owe to others, and how little to ourselves. Other 
vices choose to be in the dark, but pride loves to be 
seen in the light. The common charge against those 
who rise above their condition, is pride. Proud looks 
make foul work in fair faces. 



POVERTY'S ANSWER TO PRIDE. 

Poverty, dressed in her sombre attire, 

Sallied out one wintry day ; 

In hopes of obtaining food and fire, 

She passed on her weary way ; 

And bending low, with quivering lip— 

And downcast, tearful eye, 

She poured her sorrowful tale of want 

In the ear of each passer by : 

And some, as they thought of their happy homes, 

Gave heed to her earnest cry. 

Pride, arrayed in her gorgeous dress 

Of silks and satins rare, 

Stood glancing at Poverty's keen distress, 

And attitude of despair ; 

Then scornfully curling her haughty lip, 

And assuming a regal grace, 

She inquired what Poverty wanted there, 

With her gaunt and wolfish face ; 

An object so mean as her shrinking form, 

Was entirely out of place. 

Poverty, stung by the bitter taunt, 

Stood erect by the side of Pride, 

And with tears suppressed and sighs restrained 

She slowly and firmly replied : 

My presence inspires you with naught but disgust ; 

I am hungry, and sad and forlorn ; 



176 POVERTY. 



Yet I would not exchange my much abused rags— 
My garments all tattered and worn — 
For all the bright gems that are bound in your hair, 
Your cold, haughty brow to adorn. 

You're a curse in the palace— a curse in the cot— 

Your blight falls alike upon all ; 

And woe to the household where you are a guest, 

Whether palace, or cottage, or hall ; 

Woe, woe to the being in whose heart you raise 

Your altar of unhallowed fire ; 

For the flattering hopes that you place on the pile, 

Will sink him down deep in the mire ; 

And with anguish of spirit, and head deeply bowed, 

He will see the last bright spark expire. 



POVERTY. 

A man should not be despised because he is poor. 
Even to slight the poor is mean. To be poor is more 
honorable than to be dishonorably rich. Pious pov- 
erty as better than poor piety. Poverty breeds wealth ; 
and wealth, in its turn, breeds poverty. The earth, to 
form the mound, is taken out of the ditch ; and the height 
of one is near about the depth of the other. Wealth 
and poverty are both temptations : that, tends to excite 
pride ; this, discontent. The privations of poverty ren- 
der us too cold and callous, and the privileges of prop- 
erty too cold and consequential ; the first place us be- 
neath the influence of opinion — the second above it. 
Poverty induces and cherishes dependence, and depend- 
ence strengthens and increases corruption. Whoever is 
not contented in poverty, would not be perfectly happy 
with riches. Bulwer says that poverty is only an idea 
in nine cases out of ten. Some men with ten thousand 
dollars a year suffer more for want of means than others 
with three hundred. The reason is, the richer man has 
artificial wants. His income is ten thousand ; and, 
by habit, he spends twelve or fifteen thousand, and 
he suffers enough from being dunned for unpaid debts 
to kill a sensitive man. A man who earns a dollar a day, 
and does not run in debt, is the happier of the two. 
Yery few people who have never been rich will believe 
this ; but it is as true as God's word. There are people, 



POVERTY. 177 

of course, who are wealthy and enjoy their wealth, but 
there are thousands upon thousands with princely in- 
comes who never know a moment's peace, because they 
live above their means. There is really more happiness 
in the world among the working people than among 
those who are called rich. It is contrary to God's law 
of nature for a man to live in idleness. He who lives by 
the "sweat of his brow," is the happiest. In large cities 
many people are unhappy for want of employment. If 
their lot had been cast in the country, where they tilled 
the soil for their own account, this would never hap- 
pen. Poverty has, in large cities, very different appear- 
ances. It is often concealed in splendor, and often in 
extravagance. It is the care of a very great part of man- 
kind, to conceal their indigence from the rest. They 
support themselves by temporary expedients, and every 
day is lost in contriving for to-morrow. Have the cour- 
age to appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharp- 
est sting. Let it be said, that though he is poor, yet he 
always pays his debts. He that has much and wants 
more is poor ; he who has little and wants no more is 
rich. 

"Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough."— Shak. 

The poor man's purse may be empty, but he has as 
much gold in the sunset and as much silver in the moon 
as anybody. The richer a man is the more he dreads 
poverty; thus poverty looks most frightful at a distance. 
Want is little to be dreaded, when a man has but a short 
time left to be miserable. Of all poverty, that of the 
mind is most deplorable. None but God and the poor 
know what the poor do for each other. Nature is a 
great believer in compensations. Those to whom she 
sends wealth, she saddles with lawsuits and dyspepsia. 
The poor never indulge in woodcock, but they have a 
style of appetite that converts a mackerel into a salmon, 
and that is quite as well. To miss a fortune is not 
necessarily a misfortune. Blessed may be the stroke of 
disaster that sets free the children of the rich, giving 
them over to the hard but kind bosom of poverty. If 



178 POVERTY. 

there is anything in the world, says Dr. Holland, that a 
young man should be more grateful for than another, it 
is the poverty which necessitates his starting in life under 
very great disadvantages. Poverty is one of the best 
tests of human quality in existence. A triumph over it 
is like graduating with honor at West Point. It demon- 
strates stuff and stamina. It is a certificate of worthy 
labor faithfully performed, A young man who can not 
stand this test, is not good for anything. He can never 
rise above a drudge or a pauper. A young man who 
can not feel his will harden as the yoke of poverty presses 
upon him, and his pluck rise with every difficulty that 
poverty throws in his way, may as well retire into some 
corner and hide himself. Poverty saves a thousand times 
more men than it ruins ; for it only ruins those who are 
not particularly worth saving, while it saves multitudes 
of those whom wealth have ruined. I pity you, my rich 
young friend, because you are in danger. You lack one 
great stimulus to effort and excellence, which your poor 
companion possesses. You will be very apt, if you have 
a soft spot in your head, to think yourself above him, and 
that sort of thing makes you mean, and injures you. 
With full pockets and full stomach, and good linen and 
broadcloth on your back, your heart and soul plethoric, 
in the race of life you will find yourself surpassed by all 
the poor boys around you, before you know it. No, my 
boy, if you are poor, thank God and take courage, for 
he intends to give you a chance to make something of 
yourself. If you had plenty of money, ten chances to 
one it would spoil you for all useful purposes. Do you 
lack education ? Have you been cut short in the text 
book ? Remember that education, like some other things, 
does not consist in the multitude of things a man posses- 
ses. What can you do ? That is the question that settles 
the business for you. Do you know your business ? Do 
you know men, and how to deal with them ? Has your 
mind, by any means whatsoever, received that discipline 
which gives to it action, power and facility ? If so, then 
you are more a man, and a thousand times better edu- 
cated, than the fellow who graduates from a college with 



PLEASURE. 179 

his brains full of stuff that he can not apply to the practi- 
cal business of life — stuff, the acquisition of which has 
been in no sense a disciplinary process, so far as he is con- 
cerned. There are very few men in this world less than 
thirty years of age, and unmarried, who can afford to be 
rich. One of the greatest benefits to be reaped from 
great financial disasters, is the saving of a large crop of 
young men. 



PLEASURE. 

Says Dr. Young, the man of pleasure, as the phrase is, 
is the most ridiculous of all beings. It is remarkable, 
said Seneca, that among those that place their happiness 
in sense, they are the most miserable that seem to be the 
happiest. He that is violent in the pursuit of pleasure, 
says M. Aurel, won't mind to turn villain for the pur- 
chase. Pray, what were you made for? says the Em- 
peror Aurelius: for your pleasure? Common sense will 
not bear so scandalous an answer. Pleasures unduly 
taken, enervate the soul, make fools of the wise, and 
cowards of the brave ; while they flatter a man they 
sting him to death. What if we might have all the plea- 
sures in the world by asking? Who would so unman 
himself as to desert his soul and become a perpetual 
slave to his senses, by accepting them ? If we cast an eye 
into the gay world, says Dr. Miller, we see, for the most 
part, a set of querulous, emaciated, fluttering, fantastical 
beings, worn out in the keen pursuit of pleasure ; crea- 
tures that know, own, condemn, deplore, yet still pursue 
their own infelicity ! the decayed monuments of error ! 

" Pleasures, like the rose," says Bishop Henshaw, 
" are sweet but prickly ; the honey doth not counter- 
vail the sting; all the world's delights are vanity, and 
end in vexation ; like Judas, while they kiss, they betray. 
I would neither be a stoic, nor an epicure — allow of no 
pleasure, nor give way to all ; they are good sauce, but 
naught to make a meal of. I may use them sometimes 
for digestion, never for food." "Pleasures do but weaken 



180 PLEASURE. 

our minds, 1 ' says Seneca, u and send us for our support 
to fortune, who gives us money only as the wages of 
slavery." Sinful pleasures blast the opening prospects 
of human felicity, and degrade human honor. Desires 
of pleasure usher in temptation, and the growth of dis- 
orderly passions is forwarded. Every day sends out, in 
quest of pleasure and distinction, some heir fondled in 
ignorance and flattered into pride. Some people are 
nothing but money, pride and pleasure. These three 
things engross their thoughts, and take up their whole 
souls. Every one who hunts after pleasure, or fame, or 
fortune, is still restless and uneasy till he has hunted 
down his game. The most pitiable wretch on earth is a 
man of pleasure ; — a man who has nothing to do, or at 
least does nothing but enjoy himself and take life easy. 
That ease is the rust of the soul which dims its bright 
surface and corrodes its very substance. The most un- 
happy men we have ever known were those whom 
wealth (unfortunately for their own comfort) exempted 
from the necessity of working for themselves, and who 
were too sordid to enjoy the divine pleasure of working 
for others. One of this class, who had almost princely 
riches, and spent thousands annually on fine and fast 
horses, and the like, said to an intimate friend, "I am a 
wretched man. My life is aimless." Another of the 
same class declared that, often when he had met a funeral, 
he had wished in his soul that he could change places 
with the dead man in the coffin. Beaux, and fops, 
and the whole pleasure-loving fraternity, are short- 
lived creatures. They look pretty in the gay sunshine 
of summer; but, poor creatures, they can not endure 
the approach of autumn and winter. They have their 
little hour of enjoyment, and that is the end of them. 
The days of immoderate pleasure become the vigils of 
repentance. The seeds of repentance are sown in youth 
by pleasure, but the harvest is reaped in age by pain. 

"Still where rosy pleasure leads, 
See a kindred grief pursue." 

When the idea of any pleasure strikes your imagina- 



PLEASURE. 181 

tion, make a just computation between the duration of 
the pleasure and of the repentance that is sure to follow 
it. Do not bite at the bait of pleasure till you know 
there is no hook beneath it. What is most useful is 
generally least exhilarating. Light has no color, water 
no taste, air no odor. Pleasure and pain, though directly 
opposite, are yet so contrived by nature as to be con- 
stant companions ; and it is a fact, that the same motions 
and muscles of the face are employed both in laughing 
and crying. When pleasure is predominant, all virtues 
are excluded. Let pleasure be ever so innocent, the ex- 
cess is always criminal. He that liveth in pleasure is 
dead while he liveth; but he that resisteth pleasure 
crowneth his life. The Grecians and Romans had in de- 
testation the very name of Philoxenus, because he wished 
for a crane's neck, for the pleasure he might take in 
eating. The Egyptians, at their feast, to prevent exces- 
ses, set a skeleton before their guests, with this motto, 
Remember ye must shortly be such. They that are 
lovers of pleasures, look upon all discourse on religion 
as canting. Eating and drinking, and vain mirth, news, 
and play, and the like are their constant entertainment ; 
who know no other pleasures than what their five sen- 
ses furnish them. 

The pursuit of pleasure is unprofitable business. The 
more you catch it the more it escapes from you. Our 
pleasures, for the most part, are short, false and deceit- 
ful; and, like drunkenness, revenge the jolly madness of 
one hour, with the sad repentance of many. The plea- 
sures of the world are deceitful; they promise more than 
they give. They trouble us in seeking them, they do 
not satisfy us in possessing them, and they make us des- 
pair in losing them. There are too many of that un- 
thinking temper of mind which troubles itself with no- 
thing that is serious and weighty, but who account life a 
pastime and seek nothing above recreation ; never reflect- 
ing upon where all this will end at last. Neither the deli- 
cacies of entertainments, the charms of music, the diver- 
tisement of the theatre, the magnificence of courts, nor 
the most shining assemblies, can give full satisfaction to 



182 PLEASURE. 

a wise man. We admire no man for enjoying all bodily 
pleasures to the full. This may create for him envy, but 
not esteem. Whereas wisdom and prudence, true piety 
and virtue, and all the offices of humanity, charity and 
friendship, have the praise and commendation even of 
those who will not imitate them. The wise and good 
will be ever loved and honored, as the glory of human 
nature. The good man was ever inwardly troubled for 
the commission of any pleasure ; from whence it follows, 
that pleasures, strictly speaking, are neither profitable 
nor good. 

Not to desire pleasure is equivalent to the enjoyment 
of it. I see no greater pleasure in this world, said Tur- 
tullian, than the contempt of pleasure. There is but one 
solid pleasure in life, and that is our duty. How miser- 
able then, how unwise, how unpardonable are they, says 
Dr. Young, who make that one a pain ! Man was made for 
action, for duty, and for usefulness ; and it is only when 
he lives in accordance with this great design of his be 
ing, that he attains his highest dignity, and truest hap- 
piness. To make pleasure our ultimate aim is certainly 
to fail of it. 

The greatest pleasure wealth can afford us, is that of 
doing good. It is 'a happy thing when a man's pleasure 
is also his perfection. The pleasure of doing good is the 
only one that never wears out. He who can at all times 
sacrifice pleasure to duty approaches sublimity, says Lav- 
ater. Aristippus said, he liked no pleasure but that which 
concerned a man's true happiness. Religion is so far 
from debarring men any innocent pleasure or comfort, 
that it rather purifies and renders them more grateful 
and generous. And besides, it brings mighty pleasures 
of its own — those of a glorious hope, a serene mind, a 
calm and undisturbed conscience, which do far outrelish 
the most studied and artificial luxuries. Recreations mod- 
erately used, are profitable to the body for health, to the 
mind for refreshment. Use pleasures moderately, arid 
they will last the longer. The test of enjoyment is the 
remembrance that it leaves behind it. We have no right 
to keep ourselves or others from natural pleasures, and 



AMUSEMENTS. 183 

we are all too apt to interfere with and judge harshly the 
pleasures of others. There is a sweet pleasure in con- 
templation. All others grow flat and insipid by frequent 
use ; when a man has run through with a set of vanities, 
in the declension of his age, he knows not what to do 
with himself, if he can not think. All worldly pleasure 
is correspondent to a like measure of anxiety. 



AMUSEMENTS. 

Old boys have playthings as well as young ones ; the 
difference is only in the price. The permission of lawful 
enjoyment is the surest method to prevent unlawful grati- 
fications. Fun is worth more than physic, and whoever 
invents or discovers a new supply deserves the name of 
a public benefactor. A man can not burrow in his count- 
ing-room for ten or twenty of the best years of his life, 
and come out as much of a man and as little of a mole as 
when he went in. Repose beautifies the heart and adorns 
the life. It is to labor what the shadow is to the sun. 
There is as much science in recreation as in labor. To a 
brisk bustling man, nothing makes time pass heavily but 
pastime. Mirth is short and transient, cheerfulness fixed 
and permanent. 

" All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy ; 
All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy." 

Most men that follow sports, make them a principal 
part of their life ; not reflecting that while they are di- 
verting themselves, they are throwing away time. We 
alter the very nature and design of recreation, when we 
make a business of it. He that follows his recreation in- 
stead of his business shall, in a little time, have no busi- 
ness to follow. Of all diversions of life, there is none so 
proper to fill up its empty spaces, as the reading of 
useful and entertaining authors ; and with that the con- 
versation of a well-chosen friend. 



184 THEATRES. 

THEATRES. 

If the experience of the world teaches anything, it 
teaches this : that taking theatres in cities small and large, 
through periods of years, they never have sustained them- 
selves except by pandering to the lower passions. What 
has been a door of literature, of intellectual entertain- 
ment, and sometimes of food for the higher sentiments, 
has come to be a door of the passions, in too many in- 
stances. There is no harm in a play, whether you read 
it or recite it ; and in and of itself it makes no difference 
whether you go to the theatre or stay at home. If my 
son comes to me and says, "May I go to the theatre?' 7 
I withhold my consent ; but if he says, "Is it wrong in 
itself ?" I say, "No, it is not." I do not wish to create 
in the minds of the young a false impression in respect 
to the drama: I merely desire to impress them with the 
fact that theatres, as they exist, have a pernicious effect 
upon society. I desire to give them to understand, that 
the influence of theatres, as they are conducted, is, as a 
general rule, deleterious to those who frequent them. I 
do not believe an actor or an actress would wish to have 
his or her child to attend theatres. I do not believe 
that business men, although they have been in the habit 
of going to theatres, and although they have been rela- 
tively unharmed by them, would want their clerks to go 
to them. I do not believe that a banker would want his 
confidential clerk to frequent them. And why do peo- 
ple feel thus about theatres ? Not because they have an 
antipathy against them in and of themselves, but be- 
cause they feel that altogether, taking one year with an 
other, they are injurious. 

It is patent that property comes up in neighborhoods 
where churches are established. The reason of this is 
that it is a recognized fact that where churches are estab- 
lished, in spite of their mischiefs, there is an undertone 
that promotes good morals. How is it with theatres ? 
In spite of their apparent benefits — and I hope they have 
many benefits that are not apparent — property will not 
come up in localities where they are situated. It has 



VICE. 



185 



been found to be the experience in Paris, London and 
New York, that respectable persons prefer not to have 
their residences in the vicinity of theatres, on account of 
their tendency to deteriorate morals. I go no farther 
than that. I do not go into any theorizing or reasoning 
as to whether theatres are right per se, in and of them- 
selves, and so on. I simply state, as a mere matter of 
fact proved by observation, that theatres exert an im- 
moral influence. — Beeoher. 



YICE. 



By others' faults wise men correct their own. A fault 
confessed is half redressed. You may as well seek honey 
in gall as happiness in vice. The pleasures of vice are 
momentary ; the pleasures of virtue, everlasting. He has 
learnt much and has not lived in vain, who has practically 
discovered that most strict and necessary connection, that 
does, and will ever exist, between vice and misery, and 
virtue and happiness. The greatest miracle that the Al- 
mighty could perform would be to make a bad man happy, 
even in heaven : He must unparadise that blessed place 
to accomplish it. In its primary signification, all vice, 
that is, all excess, brings on its own punishment even 
here. By certain fixed, settled and established laws of 
Him who is the God of Nature, excess of every kind de- 
stroys that constitution that temperance would preserve. 
"In this world," says Richard Cobden, "the virtues and 
the forces go together, and the vices and the weaknesses 
are inseparable." Though it be a truth very little re- 
ceived, that virtue is its own reward ; it is surely an un- 
deniable one, that vice is its own punishment. Yice 
stings even in our pleasures ; but virtue consoles us even 
in our pains. Yice and folly may feel the edge of wit, 
but virtue is invulnerable, as aquafortis dissolves the base 
metals, but has no power to dissolve or corrode gold. 
The martyrs to vice far exceed the martyrs to virtue, 
both in endurance and in number. So blinded are we 
by our passions, that we suffer more to be damned than 



186 vice. 

to be saved. One vice is more expensive than many 
virtues. Vice produces misery. It costs us more to be 
miserable than it would to make us perfectly happy. 
How cheap and easy to us is the service of virtue ! and 
how dear do we pay for our vices ! 

Never open a door to a little vice, lest a great one 
should enter also. Small faults indulged are little thieves 
that let in greater. Many a man's vices have at first been 
nothing worse than good qualities run wild. Yice, ab- 
stractly considered, is often engendered in idleness, but, 
the moment it becomes efficiently vice, it must quit its 
cradle and cease to be idle. Vice lives and thrives by 
concealment. Why does no man confess his vices ? It 
is because he is yet in them. It is for a waking man to 
tell his dreams. Human frailty is no excuse for criminal 
immorality. We may hate men's vices without any ill 
will to their persons; but we can not help despising 
those that have no kind of virtue to recommend them. 

One of the greatest artifices the devil uses to engage 
men in vice and debauchery, is to attach names of con- 
tempt to certain virtues; and to fill weak souls with a 
foolish fear of passing for scrupulous, should they desire 
to put them in practice. Sometimes those boast of ab- 
stinence who have lost their digestive power ; those boast 
of chastity whose blood is cold and stagnant ; those boast 
of knowing how to be silent who have nothing to say. 
In short, mankind make vices of the pleasures which they 
can not enjoy, and virtues of the infirmities to which they 
are subject. We sometimes clap vice in fetters and then 
call it virtue. Some men are kind because they are dull T 
as common horses are easily broken to harness. Some 
are orderly because they are timid, like cattle driven by 
a boy with a wand. And some are social because they 
are greedy, like barn yard fowls that mind each other's 
clucking. Many persons think themselves perfectly vir- 
tuous because, being well fed, they have no temptation 
to vice. They don't distinguish between virtue and vic- 
tuals. 

It is idle to talk of the vices as a sisterhood. There 
may be association, but no affiliation. Knaves may be 



THE ALCHEMY OF VICE/ 187 

companions, but not friends. The vain dislike the vain ; 
the proud hate the proud ; the covetous abhor the cov- 
etous. But the virtuous are never at war. The just 
love the just ; the chaste esteem the chaste ; the benevo- 
lent admire the benevolent. In short, all good things 
harmonize ; all bad things are discordant, both with the 
good and with each other. Vice is sometimes more 
courageous than virtue, because it has less to lose. 

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 

As to be hated needs but to be seen ; 

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 

We first endure, then pity, then embrace." — Pope. 

" I'll no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden' d wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricted." — Burns. 



THE ALCHEMY OF YICE. 

You have heard the story of the Italian artist who, 
meeting with a child of exquisite beauty, wished to pre- 
serve its features for fear he should never see such love- 
liness again. So he painted the charming face upon can- 
vas and hung it upon the walls of his studio. In his 
somberest hours, that sweet, gentle countenance was like 
an angel of light to him. Its presence filled his soul 
with the purest aspirations. If ever I find, he said, a 
perfect contrast to that beauteous face, I will paint that 
also, and hang them side by side, an ideal of Heaven and 
Hell. Years passed. At length, in' a distant land, he 
saw in a prison he visited, the most hideous object he 
ever gazed upon. A fierce haggard fiend, with glaring 
eyes and cheeks deeply furrowed with lust and crime. 
The artist remembered his vow, and immediately painted 
a picture of this loathsome form, to hang beside the por- 
trait of the lovely boy. The contrast was perfect. His 
dream was realized. The two poles of the moral universe 
were before him. What was the surprise of this artist, 
when on inquiry into the history of this horrid wretch, 
to find he was once that lovely little boy. Both of these 
pictures, the angel and the demon of the same soul now 



188 GUILT. 

hang side by side in a Tuscan gallery. Kind reader, you 
need not travel to a foreign gallery to see the transform- 
ing power of vice upon the body. That brazen faced 
wanton looking wretch of womanhood was once a sweet, 
modest little girl, that blushed at the slightest indelicate 
allusion. That obese, bloated, brandy-burnt visage was 
once a joyous hearted boy. What strange alchemy has 
wrought this bestial transformation ? They have been 
in the hard battle of appetite and carry the scars of many 
campaigns. In the basement cells of inebriety and saloons 
of licentiousness, many youthful forms are sitting for 
their portraits. The demon artist of lust and intemper- 
ance is gradually moulding them into fiends. You may, 
our young reader, steal secretly into these hells of ine- 
briety and harlotry. Your kind parents and friends may 
little suspect your wayward proclivities. But be assured 
your u sin will find you out." Vice cannot long remain 
concealed. The soul has no place to hide it. Soon the 
foul flame, through some rent or fissure of the body, will 
find expression. The inmost loves, the desires and affini- 
ties of the soul, will mould the plastic boy into a corres- 
ponding likeness. The body is a flesh and blood statue 
of the spirit, and the countenance the play ground of 
thought and feeling. An old poet has said : 

"For of the soul, form doth body take, 
For soul is form, and doth the body make." 



GUILT. 

Misery is wed to guilt. Guilt is always wretched, and 
virtue is always rewarded, sooner or later. Remorse 
tortures with his scorpion lash. The mind that broods 
o'er guilty woes, says Byron, is like a scorpion girt by 
fire. The guilty soul cannot keep its secret. — [Webster.] 
Oh ! that I could return once more to peace and inno- 
cence ! that I hung an infant on the breast ! that I were 
born a beggar — a peasant of the field ! I would toil till 
the sweat of blood dropped from my brow to purchase 
the luxury of one sound sleep, the rapture of a single 
tear! — Schiller. 






LUXURY. 189 

LUXURY. 

Luxury gives birth to avarice, avarice begets boldness, 
and boldness is the parent of depravity and crime. The 
memory of the ancients, said a learned man, is hardly in 
any thing more to be celebrated than in their strict and 
useful institution of youth. By labor they prevented 
luxury in their young people, till wisdom and philosophy 
taught them to resist and despise it. How despicable, 
says another writer, is his condition who is above neces- 
sity, and yet will resign his reason and his integrity, to 
purchase superfluities ! Though prudence may oblige a 
man to secure a competency, yet never was any one by 
right reason induced to seek superfluities. The ingenius 
M. Paschal kept always in mind this maxim, Avoid 
pleasure and superfluity. If they who affect an outward 
show knew how many there are who deride their trivial 
folly, they would be ashamed of themselves, grow wiser, 
and bestow their superfluities in helping the needy, and 
befriending the neglected. The luxurious, says Plutarch, 
live to eat and drink, but the wise and temperate eat 
and drink to live. The necessities of the body are the 
proper measure of our care for the things of this life ; but 
if once we leave this rule, and exceed those necessities, 
then are we carried into all the extravagances in the 
world. 

The voluptuary consumes his wealth, the miser hides 
it. It is the wise man only who uses it to good purposes. 
Those persons, says Tacitus, are under a mighty error 
who know not how to distinguish between liberality and 
luxury. Many men know how to squander that do not 
know how to give. Amongst the ancient Romans there 
was a law kept inviolably, that no man should make a 
public feast, except he had before provided for all the 
poor of his neighborhood. Take not pleasure in much 
good cheer, neither be tied to the expense thereof. Ban- 
quet not upon borrowing. If thou be the master of a 
feast, lift not thyself up, but be among them as one of 
the rest. 

The consideration of the dignity and excellence of our 



190 CRIME. 

nature, says Cicero, plainly inform us, how mean and un- 
worthy it is to dissolve in luxury ; and how becoming it 
is, on the other hand, to lead a life of frugality, temper- 
ance and sobriety. There is no remark more common 
among ancient historians, than that when the state was 
corrupted with avarice and luxury it was in danger of 
being betrayed or sold. Our luxuries and pleasures are 
the chains that civilization throws around us to attach us 
to earth. The coarse minded submit to wear them, for- 
getting that man was formed for nobler ends, but the 
elevated and refined cast them off, and aspire to a purer 
existence. Liberal not lavish is kind nature's hand. It 
needs no train or servants, no pomp or equipage, to make 
good our passage to heaven : but the graces of an honest 
mind will serve us upon the way, and make us happy at 
our journey's end, 

CRIME. 

Lord Shaftesbury declared at a public meeting, as an 
ascertained fact, that forty-nine out of fifty of all the 
criminals in England, convicted in after-life, commenced 
their career of crime between the ages of eight and six- 
teen, so that he who has passed through his sixteenth 
year, without having begun a life of crime against the 
laws of his country in some particular or other, is almost 
certain never to do so. But the statistics may be some- 
what different in America. Young men take heed. 
Read the confession of a convict and ponder well ere you 
make the first step into crime : "Had I been early trained 
to truth and virtue — had one-twentieth part of the time 
and effort been spent upon my moral culture, that was 
lavished on my worldly education, I would not be the 
creature of guilt and passion, nor the disgraced felon that 
I am." The laws of nature are just, but terrible. There 
is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are- 
inseparable and inevitable. The fire burns, the water 
drowns, the air consumes, the earth buries. And per- 
haps it would be well for our race, if the punishment of 
crimes against the laws of man were as inevitable as the 



WICKEDNESS — REVENGE. 191 

punishment of crime against the laws of nature — were 
man as unerring in his judgments as nature. 



WICKEDNESS. 

There is hardly any wicked man, but when his own 
case is represented to him under the person of another, 
will freely enough pass sentence against the wickedness 
he himself is guilty of. A wicked man, in his iniquitous 
plans, either fails or succeeds : if he fails, disappointment 
is embittered by reproach; if he succeeds, success is 
without pleasure ; for, when he looks around, he sees no 
smile of congratulation. 

REVENGE. 

The noblest revenge we can take upon our enemies is 
to do them a kindness, for to return malice for malice, 
and injury for injury, will afford but a temporary gratifi- 
cation to our evil passions, and our enemies will only be 
rendered the more bitter against us. But, to take the 
first opportunity of showing them how superior we are 
to them, by doing them a kindness, or by rendering them 
a service, the sting of reproach will enter deeply in their 
soul ; and, while unto us it will be a noble retaliation, 
our triumph will not unfrequently be rendered complete, 
not only by blotting out the malice that had otherwise 
stood against us, but by bringing repentant hearts to 
offer themselves at the shrine of friendship. Says Lord 
Bacon, The most tolerable sort of revenge, is for those 
wrongs which there is no law to remedy. But then let 
a man take heed, that the revenge be such as there is no 
law to punish ; else a man's enemy is still beforehand, 
and is two for one. 

It is better to prevent a quarrel beforehand, than to 
revenge it afterwards. It costs more to revenge inju- 
ries than to bear them. He that waits for an opportu- 
nity of taking his revenge, watches to do himself a mis- 
chief. He who is conspiring against the peace of another 
necessarily loses his own. He that studies revenge keeps 



192 REVENGE. 

his own wounds green and rankling. Who ruins an- 
other has admitted the worm to the root of his own tree, 
and the fuller ye fill the cup of evil, the deeper must be 
your own bitter draught. A vindictive temper is not 
only uneasy to others, but to them that have it. 

"Revenge, at first, though sweet, 

Bitter, ere long, back on itself recoils."— Milton. 

There is no revenge more heroic than that which tor- 
ments envy by doing good. Diogenes being asked how 
one should be revenged of his enemy, answered, u By 
being a virtuous and honest man." Sir Isaac Newton 
says, " If you are affronted, it is better to pass it by in 
silence, or with a jest, though with some dishonor, than 
to endeavor revenge. If you can keep reason above 
passion, that, and watchfulness, will be your best defend- 
ants." Vexation is rather to be taken than given. Re- 
venge never repairs an injury. Gentle reply to scurrilous 
language is the most severe revenge. Lord Bacon says, 
u By taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy ; 
but in passing it over, he is superior." The best mode 
of revenge is not to imitate the injury. The forgetting 
of a wrong is a mild revenge. A virtuous man may be 
innocently revenged of his enemies, by persisting in well- 
doing ; and a wicked man, by reforming his life. Though 
God suffers not his people to sin in avenging their enemies, 
yet he suffers not the sin ol their enemies to go una- 
venged. No creatures in the whole world but men glory 
and triumph in the destruction of their own species. 
Man is the only jarring string that spoils the concord of 
the whole creation. 

Revenge stops for nothing that is violent and wicked. 
The histories of all ages are full of the tragical outrages 
that have been executed by this diabolical passion. 

Revenge is longer lived than gratitude. Indorse Mr. 
Smith's note to keep him from bursting, and he will for- 
get all about it in a month. Pull Mr. Smith's nose and 
he will cherish a secret desire to burn your house down 
for the remainder of his life. Revenge is a passion. 
Gratitude appears to be only a sentiment. We can all 



MURDER — DUELING. 193 

hate ; but it is only one man in a hundred that possesses 
sense enough to be thankful. 



MURDER. 

Providence hath so ordained and doth so govern things, 
that those who break the great law of heaven, by shed- 
ding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. 
Murder will out. The secret which the murderer posses- 
ses soon comes to possess him. And, like the evil spirits 
of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whith- 
ersoever it will. He feels its beating at his heart, rising 
to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the 
whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and 
almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his 
discretion ; it breaks down his courage ; it conquers his 
prudence. When suspicions without begin to embarrass 
him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the 
fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst 
forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed ; there 
is no refuge from confession — but suicide : and suicide 
is confession. — Daniel Webster. Many who attempt to 
commit murder succeed only in committing suicide. 



DUELING. 

Dueling, as everybody knows, is a relic of the Dark 
Ages. Among the ignorant and superstitious people 
with whom it originated, and even under the institutions 
of chivalry, there may have been some excuse for it. 
But, in the present state of civilization, it can not be jus- 
tified. Gibbon, the historian, when informed that two of 
his friends had agreed to repair to the field, interposed, 
on the noble principle that the acknowledgment of a real 
fault is never injurious to one's honor, and that an offender 
who offers an apology or explanation is a true gentle- 
man ; and succeeded in adjusting the difficulty between 

them. Franklin said that, "A duel decides nothing;" 
13 ' 



194 DUELING. 

and that a person appealing to it "makes himself judge 
in his own cause, condemns the offender without a jury, 
and undertakes himself to be the executioner." Charles 
Cotesworth Pinckney, one of the greatest statesmen of 
the United States, after the fall of Hamilton, endeavored 
to induce the society of the Cincinnati, of the different 
States, in a body, to speak their "abhorrence of the prac- 
tice," and to determine, "on no account, either to send 
or accept a challenge," as the best means to "abolish it 
throughout the Union." Notwithstanding the example 
and' opinion of Henry Clay at one period of his life, we 
have the sentiment of his old age, in the remark in the 
Senate, that "no man would be happier than himself to 
see the whole barbarous system forever eradicated." 
President Taylor emphatically refused to restore two 
officers of the Navy who had been dismissed the service 
for an offense, accompanied with the statement to his 
Cabinet, that he had served in the Army forty years 
without fighting, that duels were unnecessary, that he 
would discountenance them on every occasion, and that 
" he would have no dueling men about him if he could 
help it." In 1849, a Professor of Law in Kentucky, in 
his valedictory address to a graduating class, denounced 
the practice in the strongest terms, "as rude, coarse and 
full of horrid crime." Mr. Ehett, in 1852, in the Senate of 
the United States, in answer to the defiance of a Senator 
from another State, avowed that he was a member of 
a Christian Church, that he would not dishonor his re- 
ligious profession by going to the field to avenge an 
insult ; that " he feared God more than man," and 
that "true courage is best evinced by the firm mainte- 
nance of our principles amidst all temptations and all 
trials." 

An eminent author says, "Few successful duelists (if 
the word successful can be applied to a superiority so 
fatal) have beheld their dead antagonist stretched on the 
earth at their feet, without wishing they could redeem 
with their own blood that which it has been their fate 
to spill. Mr. Sabine, the author of a recent work en- 
titled, " Notes on Duels and Dueling," states that, dur- 



DUELING. 195 

ing his researches, he has been much impressed with the 
fact that most duels grow out of trifles; and that re- 
morse is well nigh the universal companion of the "suc- 
cessful" duelist. And another writer on the same sub- 
ject remarks, that "The mother of mischief is no bigger 
than a gnat's wing; and I have known," he adds, "fifty 
instances, in my own day, in which, after the field was 
fought, no one could remember the cause of the quarrel." 
Dueling is not a criterion of bravery. Mr. Pinckney, of 
South Carolina, quoted above, said that he had " seen 
cowards fight duels." And Curran, in the exuberance 
of his wit, speaks of one of his antagonists who died, in 
three weeks after their meeting, "of the report of his 
own pistol." 

There cannot possibly be a greater extravagance than 
for a man to run the hazard of losing his life to satisfy his 
revenge. The duelist is a moral coward, seeking to 
hide the pusillanimity of his mind by affecting a corpo- 
real courage. The duelist's fear is the fear of being 
thought to fear. To send a challenge is, in effect, to call 
upon a man who may have stabbed your reputation to 
satisfy you for the injury by treating your body in the 
same manner. If you should ever receive a challenge, 
take no notice of it ; and should your belligerent neigh- 
bor continue his annoyances, hand him over to the dis- 
trict attorney and the grand jury. There have always 
been, even from the most remote period history takes 
cognizance of, advocates for that grand social scheme 
which comprehends trial by battle. Some have chosen 
clubs for these trials, some axes, some daggers, some 
spears, while others have preferred rifles, pistols, and 
swords ; but a far more civilized mode of deciding 
thus the merits of a case in dispute is, unquestionably, 
that which was in a particular instance adopted by the 
first pugilist. Certainly the practice of doing battle 
with the fists was the first step towards civilization. 
When men began to substitute the weapons which na- 
ture had provided them for battle axes, tomahawks and 
knives, society made a most important stride towards 
perfection. As civilization progresses, men will substi- 



196 DUELLING. 

tute the use of the tongue for that of the fist. When 
that has been sufficiently practiced, the use of the brow 
will supersede that of the tongue ; and when we shall 
have reached the perfection of civilization, men will 
merely treat with contempt those whom they know to 
be unworthy of respect. 

Learning that it was Lord Byron's intention to send 
him a challenge, Southey prepared the following letter 
in reply. The challenge was not sent, however, and the 
letter was found among Southey's papers after his 
death : 

Sir, — I have the honor of acknowledging the receipt 
of your letter, and do myself the pleasure of replying to 
it without delay. In affairs of this kind the parties 
ought to meet on equal terms. But to establish equality 
between you and me, there are three things which 
ought to be done ; and then a fourth also becomes neces- 
sary before I can meet you on the field. First. — You must 
marry and have four children ; please to be particular in 
having them girls. Second. — You must prove that the 
greater part of the provision you make for them depends 
on your life, and you must be under bonds of four thou- 
sand pounds not to be hanged, not to commit suicide, 
and not to be killed in a duel — which are the conditions 
upon which I have effected an insurance upon my life 
for the benefit of my wife and daughters. Third. — 
I must tell three distinct falsehoods concerning you 
upon the hustings, or in some other no less public as- 
sembly ; and I shall neither be able to do this nor to 
meet you afterward in the manner you propose, unless 
you can perform the fourth thing — which is : You must 
convert me from the Christian religion. Till this be ac- 
complished, our dispute must be carried on without the 
use of any more iron than is necessary for blacking our 
ink or mending our pens; or any more lead than enters 
into the composition of the Edinburgh Review. 

I have the honor to subscribe myself, sir, yours with 
all rjroper consideration, 

Robert Southey. 



PASSION — THE PASSIONS. 197 

PASSION. 

Passion makes them fools, who otherwise are not so ; 
and shows them to be fools, who are so. Plato, speak- 
ing of passionate persons, says, They are like men stand- 
ing on their heads, they see all things the wrong way. 
If ever you were in a passion, did you not find reason 
afterwards to be sorry for it ? and will you again allow 
yourself to be guilty of a weakness which will certainly 
be in the same manner followed by repentance, besides 
being attended with pain ? He who is caught in a pas- 
sion submits himself to be examined through a micro- 
scope. There is no method more likely to cure passion 
and rashness, than the frequent and attentive considera- 
tion of one's own weakness. This will work into the 
mind and habitual sense of the need one has of being 
pardoned, and will bring down the swelling pride and 
obstinacy of heart, which are the cause of hasty passion. 
The first step to moderation is to perceive that we are 
falling into a passion. One saying to Diogenes, after a 
fellow had spit in his face, This affront will surely make 
you angry? No, said he, but I am thinking whether I 
ought to be so or no ! He that is slow to anger, is bet- 
ter than the mighty : and he that ruleth his spirit than 
he that taketh a city. Passion is a sort of fever in the 
mind, which always leaves us weaker than it found us. 
If you be consulted concerning a person, either very in- 
consistent, passionate, or vicious, give not your advice ; 
it is in vain, for such will do only what will please them- 
selves. As nothing is honorable as an ancient friendship, 
so nothing is so scandalous as an old passion. When the 
heart is still agitated by the remains of a passion, we are 
more ready to receive a new one than when we are en- 
tirely cured. 



THE PASSIONS. 

He is a wise man, who, though not skilled in science, 
knows how to govern his passions and affections. Our 
passions are our infirmities. He that can make a sacrifice 



198 THE PASSIONS. 

of his will is lord of himself. Our passions are like con- 
vulsive fits, though they make us stronger for a moment 
yet leave us much weaker afterwards. He that over- 
comes his passions, conquers his greatest enemies. To 
triumph over our passions is, of all conquests, the most 
glorious. No man is free who has not the command 
over himself, but suffers his passions to control him. No 
man is master of himself so long as he is slave to anything 
else. He who is the slave of his own passions is worse 
governed than Athens was by her thirty tyrants. He 
who indulges his sense in any excesses, renders himself 
obnoxious to his own reason ; and to gratify the brute 
in him, displeases the man and sets his two natures at 
variance. We ought not to sacrifice the sentiments of 
the soul to gratifiy the appetites of the body. Passions, 
like wild horses, when properly trained and disciplined, 
are capable of being applied to the noblest purposes ; 
but when allowed to have their own way, they become 
dangerous in the extreme. 

No tyranny is more complete than the tyranny of 
one absorbing passion. However virtuous and amiable 
a man may be in every relation of life, yet if he once 
give himself over to any such influence, he gradually be- 
comes so completely enthralled by it as to feel power- 
less for self-extrication ; and thus" he may be driven, ir- 
resistibly at last, to the commission ol any crime, how- 
ever monstrous, without having forfeited, by any overt 
act, the general estimation in which he is held. Like 
that of a man in v a boat that is being drawn towards a 
waterfall by a current, out of which a moderate exertion 
will enable him to project himself; not having made that 
exertion in time, he is carried on faster towards destruc- 
tion, but still may be saved by a vigorous effort; the 
time for this goes by, and he is hurried along by the 
irresistible force of the torrent, until precipitated to his 
destruction in the depths beneath. Where you see men, 
later in life, fighting the same battles they began to fight 
earlier in life, you may rest assured of one thing — name- 
ly, that it is a superficial cross they are bearing. The 
idea of men is to bear as little as they can ; but that is 



THE PASSIONS. 199 

not good engineering. The right way is to whip once 
for all, as thoroughly as you can. In conducting a cam- 
paign, do not go into battle if you can help it ; but if 
you must go into it, thunder is mercy, and lightning is 
pity. The more sternly, and intensely, and consecutive- 
ly-powerful you make your onset, the shorter will be 
the contest and the more complete your victory. There 
is no rashness like leniency, holding off, letting alone. 
What your hands find to do, do it with your might, and 
be done with It — that is the only safe law. And if it is 
true in external things, as it is — what is worth doing at 
all is worth doing well — how much more is it true in 
things that relate to a man's disposition ? Why should he 
forever carry about in himself a gang of pirate passions ? 
Why should he not say, u Let me come in conflict with 
the destroyers of my peace and pleasures and subdue 
them ?" A man ought not to be contending with the 
same evil propensities all the time. He ought to be con- 
tinually arising to higher and higher conflicts. And late 
in Christian life is a sign that you have not known what 
was wisdom. And yet, how many of us say that our 
old conflicts are all ended ? All the passions of our ani- 
mal nature are increased by indulgence. If they are im- 
properly indulged, they will triumph in our ruin. They 
will obliterate those heaven-born qualities of our minds, 
which, if properly cultivated, would assimilate us to 
angels, and bring us home to God. 

Philosophy and religion show themselves in no one in- 
stance so much as in preserving our minds firm and 
steady. Physic has no more remedies against the dis- 
eases of the body than reason and religion have preser- 
vatives against the passions of the mind. Passion has its 
foundation in nature : virtue is acquired by the improve- 
ment of our reason, and by religion. It is certainly much 
easier, says Charron, wholly to decline a passion, than to 
keep it within just bounds and measures ; and that which 
few can moderate, almost anybody can prevent. Mod- 
eration of the passions, judgment in counsel, and dex- 
terity in affairs, are the most eminent parts of wisdom. 
Sobriety and temperance of all kinds; moderate exer- 



200 GAMBLING. 

cise ; appetites well governed ; and the keeping of one's 
self from melancholy, and all violent passions and dis- 
orders of the mind, do assist, preserve, confirm and finish 
that which nature at first began. 

To be masters of ourselves, it is indispensably necessary 
that our thoughts and habits be good and regular; which 
is effected either by converse with good books or per- 
sons. Hence we may know ourselves, and adapt particu- 
lar remedies to our frailties; for there is nothing impos- 
sible that is necessary to the accomplishment of our hap- 
piness. 

It is said that absence cools moderate passions, and 
inflames violent ones ; as the wind blows out candles, 
but kindles fire. 

It is the basest of passions, to like what we have not, 
and slight what we possess. 

The utmost perfection we are capable of in this world, 
is to govern our lives and actions by the rules which 
nature hath set us, and to keep the order of our creation. 



GAMBLING. 

Of all passions, gambling is the most dangerous and in- 
excusable. A gamester endeavors to enrich himself with 
the spoils of those whom he calls his friends. But how many 
armies are in arms against him ? Behold that mother, 
her tears reproach him with the ruin of her only son ! 
That father pronounces his name with horror and con- 
tempt to his children ; pursued by hatred, overwhelmed 
by calumny, he feels himself condemned by reason and 
humanity; and after wandering long in the mazes of 
vice, he finds nothing before his eyes but ruin and re- 
morse. Who bets should expect to lose. "A diamond 
polishes diamond," says a German writer, u so man is 
formed by man." Truly. And we may add, as dia- 
mond cuts diamond, so man is fleeced by man. Gaming, 
like a quicksand, swallows up a man in a moment. Our 
follies and vices help each other, and blind the bubble 
at the same time that they make the sharper quick sight- 



FORTUNE TELLING. 201 

ed. Among many other evils that attend gaming are 
these, loss of time, loss of reputation, loss of health, loss 
of fortune, loss of temper, ruin of families, defrauding of 
creditors, and, what is often the effect, is the loss of life 
itself 

A good man will love himself and his neighbor too 
well to either gain or lose an estate by gaming. 

There is nothing that wears out a fine face, says Ad- 
dison, like the vigils of a card-table, and those cutting 
passions which naturally attend them. Haggard looks, 
and pale complexions, are the natural indications of a 
female gamester. 

A wager is a fool's argument. 



FORTUNE TELLING. 

One fact alone settles the pretensions of Fortune-tel- 
lers : they all tell essentially the same story to every cus- 
tomer ! One of the Tribune's reporters paid successive 
visits to fifteen of the New York sorcerers, and wrote 
down what each of them said, verbatim. An examina- 
tion of their several communications shows that of all 
tricks for getting money by false pretences, fortune-tel- 
ling is the most empty and transparent. Their revela- 
tions contain the following ten propositions: 1. You 
have seen much trouble in your past life. (Who has 
not ?) 2. Brighter days are in store for you. (A pre- 
diction, at once, safe and pleasant.) 3. You are in love. 
(Every young man — we say nothing about the young 
ladies — supposes himself to be in /that interesting pre- 
dicament.) 4. You have a rival. (Was there ever a 
lover who did not believe it ?) 5. You are about to 
make a change in your business. (An expectation in 
which all young men indulge.) 6. You will have two 
wives. (An extremely common case.) 7. Before many 
months pass, you will hear of the death of a friend. 
(Sure to happen to everyone.) 8. You will have sore 
troubles in the course of your life, but, at length, you 
will be delivered from them. 9. You will live to a 



202 DANDIES AND FOPS. 

good age. 10. You will, by and by, have plenty of 
money. This is the substance of what every fortune- 
teller in New York will communicate to every young 
man in New York, for the very reasonable charge of one 
dollar per young man. A rigmarole of similar nature, 
slightly varied to suit the sex, is at the service of every 
young lady. Surely, when these facts are generally 
known, the trade in sham prophecy will fall off. It is a 
disgrace to the city that this miserable system of delu- 
sion and fraud should have flourished so long. 



DANDIES AND FOPS. 

The rose of Florida, the most beautiful of flowers, 
emits no fragrance ; the bird of Paradise, the most beau- 
tiful of birds, gives no songs ; the cypress of Greece, the 
finest of trees, yields no fruit ; dandies, the shiniest of men, 
generally have no sense ; and ball-room belles, the loveliest 
of created creatures, are very often ditto. Dr. Holmes, 
in his "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," says: u Dandies 
are not good for much, but they are good for something. 
They invent or keep in circulation those conversational 
blanks, checks or counters, which intellectual capitalists 
may sometimes find it worth their while to borrow of 
them. They are useful, too, in keeping up the standard 
of dress, which, but for them, would deteriorate and be- 
come, what some old folks would have it, a matter of 
convenience, and not of taste and art. Yes, I like dan- 
dies well enough — on one condition, that they have pluck. 
I find that lies at the bottom of all true dandyism. A 
little' boy dressed up very fine, who puts his finger in 
his mouth and takes to crying, if other boys make fun of 
him, looks very silly. But if he turns very red in the 
face and knotty in the fists, and makes an example of the 
biggest of his assailants, throwing off his fine Leghorn 
and his thickly buttoned jacket, if necessary, to consum- 
mate the act of justice, his mall toggery takes on the 
splendors of the crested helmet that frightened Astyana. 
You remember that the Duke said his dandy officers 



DANDIES AND FOPS. 203 

were his best officers. The ' Sunday blood,' the super- 
superb sartorial equestrian of our annual fast day, is not 
imposing or dangerous. But such fellows as Brummell, 
D'Orsay, and Byron, are not to be snubbed quite so easi- 
ly. Look out for ' la main defer sous le gant de velours? 
A good many powerful and dangerous people have had 
a decided dash of dandyism about them. There was Al- 
cibiades, the ' curled son of Clinias,' an accomplished 
young man, but what would be called ' a swell 1 in these 
days. There was Aristotle, a very distinguished writer 
of whom you have heard — a philosopher, in short, whom 
it took centuries to learn, centuries to unlearn, and is 
now going to take a generation or more to learn over 
again. Regular dandy, he was. So was Marcus Anto- 
nius : and though he lost his game, he played for big 
stakes, and it was not his dandyism that spoiled his 
chance. Petrarch was not to be despised as a scholar, 
or a poet, but he was one of the same sort. So was Sir 
Humphrey Davy ; so was Lord Palmerston^ formerly, if I 
am not forgetful. Yes, a dandy is good for something 
as such; and dandies, such as I was just speaking of, 
have rocked this planet like a cradle — ay, and left it 
swinging to this day. Still, if I were you, I wouldn't 
go to the tailor's on the strength of these remarks, and 
run up a long bill, which will render pockets a super- 
fluity in your next suit. Elegans, i nascitur, non fit? A 
man is born a dandy as he is born a poet. There are 
heads that can't wear hats ; there are necks that can't 
fit cravats; there are jaws that can't fill out collars; 
there are tournures nothing can humanize, and movements 
nothing can subdue to the gracious suavity or elegant 
languor, or stately serenity which belongs to different 
styles of dandyism." 

There are a thousand fops made by art, for one fool 
made by nature. How ridiculous a sight, says Dr. Ful- 
ler, is a vain young gallant, that bristles with his plumes, 
and shakes his giddy head ; and to no other purpose, 
than to get possession of a mistress who is as much a 
trifle as himself! The little soul that converses of no- 
thing of more importance than the looking-glass, and a 



204 BEAUTY. 

fantastic dress, may make up the show of the world ; but 
must not be reckoned among the rational inhabitants of 
it. A man of wit may sometimes be a coxcomb ; but a 
man of judgment and sense never can. A beau dressed 
out, is like a cinnamon tree : the bark is worth more than 
the body. An ass is but an ass, though laden or cover- 
ed with gold. Fops are more attentive to what is showy 
than mindful of what is necessary. A fop of fashion is 
said to be the mercer's friend, the tailor's fool, and his 
own foe. 



BEAUTY. 

Socrates called beauty a short-lived tyranny ; Plato, a 
privilege of nature ; Theophrastus, a silent cheat ; The- 
ocritus, a delightful prejudice ; Cameades, a solitary 
kingdom ; Domitian said, that nothing was more grate- 
ful ; Aristotle affirmed, that beauty was better than all 
the letters of recommendation in the world ; Homer, 
that 'twas a glorious gift of nature ; and Ovid calls it a 
favor bestowed by the gods. But, as regards the ele- 
ments of beauty in women, it is not too much to say, 
that no woman can be beautiful by force of features 
alone ; there must be as well sweetness and beauty of 
soul. Beauty has been called u the power and aims of 
woman." Diogenes called it ''woman's most forcible let- 
ter of recommendation." Caoneades represented it as 
"a queen without soldiers;" and Theocritus says it is "a 
serpent covered with flowers ;" while a modern author 
defines it u a bait that as often catches the fisher as the 
fish." Nearly all the old philosophers denounced and 
ridiculed beauty as evanescent, worthless and mischiev- 
ous ; but, alas ! while they preached against it they 
were none the less its slaves. None of them were able 
to withstand "the sly, smooth witchcraft of a fair young 
face." A really beautiful woman is a natural queen in 
the universe of love, where all hearts pay a glad tribute 
to her reign. 

Nature, in many other works, has scattered her beauty 
with an unsparing hand : but none of them impress so 



BEAUTY. 205 

strongly upon the mind the idea of beauty as the female 
countenance. The flower may be more delicate in its 
formation, and may show a more exquisite color — the 
wide-spread meadow may display its beauty, and fields, 
and groves, and winding streams may variegate the 
scene : yet all that is here presented fades before the 
female countenance. In the countenance of man, there 
is a certain majesty of look, if we might so term it, which 
is not found in the other sex ; yet where is that softness y 
that sweet heavenly smile that plays upon the counte- 
nance of a female — where is that splendor that dazzles 
the eye of the beholder — that expression that baffles all 
description. The more we compare the female counte- 
nance with any other object, the more shall we be in- 
clined to give the former the palm for loveliness, and 
the more ready to exclaim with nature's sweet poet: 

"Where is any author in the world, 
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ?" 

As among females there are some which are superior 
to others, so there are also some seasons when the female 
countenance excels in loveliness. I have seen her shine 
at the ball-room ; and in all the vivacity and splendor 
of the assembly, partaking in the common gaiety and 
enjoying the pleasures of the scene, with all the liveliness 
of youthful spirits. I have seen her at the fireside, at- 
tending to the management of domestic concerns — while 
her presence seemed to banish care, and her converse 
enlightened the family circle. I have seen her reposing 
in gentle sleep, when her eye was unconscious of my 
look — when the gentleness of her slumbers told that in- 
nocence was seated in her breast ; but never yet did I 
see female so lovely as when affliction had rent her 
bosom, and had chased the smile from her cheek. Afflic- 
tion, however, though it had deprived her countenance 
of its vivacity, had given a softening expression to her 
features, which added to her loveliness. Her eyes were 
uplifted, in calm resignation, as if imploring help from 
Him, who is the father of the fatherless, and the com- 
forter of the afflicted. 



206 BEAUTY. 

The most fascinating women are those that can most 
enrich the every day moments of existence. In a par- 
ticular and attaching sense, they are all those that can 
partake our pleasures and our pains in the liveliest and 
most devoted manner. Beauty is little without this. 
Where the mouth is sweet, and the eye intelligent, there 
is always the look of beauty with a right heart. Beauty 
without virtue, is a flower without perfume. Virtue is 
the paint that can smooth the wrinkles of age. An old 
writer says, that to make an entirely beautiful woman it 
would be necessary to take the head from Greece, the 
bust from Austria, the feet from Hindostan, the shoulders 
from Italy, the walk from Spain, and the complexion 
from England. At that rate she would be a Mosaic, and 
the man who married her might well be said to have 
'taken up a collection." 

The violet will soon cease to smile. Flowers must 
fade. The love that has nothing but beauty to sustain 
it soon withers away. A pretty woman pleases the eye ; 
a good woman, the heart, The one is a jewel, the other 
a treasure. Invincible fidelity, good humor, and com- 
placency of temper, outlive all the charms of a fine face, 
and make the decay of it invisible. 

Beauty has been not unaptly, though perhaps rather vul- 
garly, defined as "all in my eye," since it addresses itself 
solely to that organ, and is intrinsically of little value. 
From this ephemeral flower spring many of the ingredients 
of matrimonial unhappiness. It is a dangerous gift for 
both its possessor and its admirer. If its possession, as is 
often the case, turns the head, while its loss sours the 
temper, if the long regret of its decay outweighs the 
fleeting pleasure of its bloom, the plain should pity rather 
than envy the handsome. Beauty of countenance, which, 
being the light of the soul shining through the face, is 
independent of features or complexion, is the most at- 
tractive as well as the most enduring charm. Nothing 
but talent and amiability can bestow it, no statue or pic- 
ture can rival it, and time itself can not destroy it. 
Beauty, dear readers, is the woman you love the best — 
whatever she may seem to others. 



BEAUTY. 207 

Personal beauty is a letter of recommendation written 
by the hand of divinity, but not unfrequently dishonored 
by the bearer. An enemy of beauty is a foe to nature. 
We are always less prone to admit the perfection of those 
for whom our approbation is demanded; and many a 
woman has appeared comparatively plain in our eyes, 
from having heard her charms extolled, whose beauty 
might otherwise have been readily admitted. As a want 
of exterior generally increases the interior beauty, we 
should perhaps generally do well to judge of woman as 
of the impressions on medals — pronouncing those the 
most valuable which are the plainest Nature seldom 
lavishes many of her gifts upon one subject : the peacock 
has no voice ; the beautiful Camelia Japonica has no 
odor; and belles frequently have no great share of intel- 
lect. Beauties sometimes die old maids. They set such 
a value on themselves that they don't find a purchaser 
until the market is closed. She who studies her glass, 
neglects her heart. A beautiful woman, if poor, should 
use a double circumspection ; for her beauty will tempt 
others, her poverty herself. "Thine was a dangerous 
gift," says the poet Rogers, "the gift of beauty ; would 
thou hadst less, or wert'as once thou wast." Many and 
varied are the female charms that conquer us. Here we 
find a woman whose strength, like Samson's, is in her 
hair ; a second holds your affections by her teeth ; and 
a third is a Cinderella, who wins hearts by her pretty 
little foot. But she is the most beautiful woman whom 
we love most ; and the woman we love the most is fre- 
quently the one to whom we talk of it the least, 

An author says, there are two sorts of persons which 
are not to be comforted ; a rich man who finds himself 
dying, and a beauty when she finds her charms fading. 
As flowers fade, and the waters flow to the ocean: so 
youth and beauty pass away, and our years hasten to 
eternity. 

' -As goods when lost, we know are seldom found ; 

As fading gloss no rubbing can excite ; 
As flowers, when dead, are trampled on the ground ; 

As broken glass no cement can unite ; 
So beauty, blemished once, is ever lost, 
In spite bf physic, painting, pains and cost." — Shak. 



208 LOVE. 

LOYE. 

Humboldt notices that the streams in America run lan- 
guidly in the night, and await the rising of the sun to 
quicken their flight. Love is to the heart what the sun 
is to our American streams — it moves languidly in its 
absence. Love is the sun of life; most beautiful in 
morning and evening, but warmest and steadiest at noon. 
It is the sun of the soul. Life without love is worse 
than death — a world without a sun. Love is to domes- 
tic life what butter is to bread — it possesses little nour- 
ishment in itself, but gives substantiate a grand relish, 
without which they would be hard to swallow. Univer- 
sal love is a mitten which fits all hands alike, but none 
closely ; true affection is like a. glove which fits one hand 
only, but sets closely to that one. You may make your 
affections too cheap, or too dear, in dealing with your 
children or your friends. If too cheap, none of them 
will value them ; if too dear, all will despair of securing 
them. Affections are so many moral objects to be ac- 
corded to justice, not to favor, and never to be withheld 
when due, nor bestowed when undeserved. People who 
are always talking sentiment have usually no very deep 
feelings. The less water you have in your kettle, the 
sooner it begins to make a noise and smoke. The love 
which does not lead to labor will soon die out, and the 
thankfulness which does not embody itself in sacrifices 
is already changing to gratitude. Love is not ripened 
in one day, nor in many, nor even in a human lifetime. 
It is the oneness of soul with soul in appreciation and 
perfect trust. To be blessed it must rest in that faith in 
the Divine which underlies every other emotion. To be 
true, it must be eternal as God himself. When Zeno was 
told it was disgraceful for a philosopher to be in love, 
he replied, "If that be true, the fair sex are much to be 
pitied, for they would receive the attention only of fools." 
Some one, speaking of a beautiful girl with enthusiasm, 
said he was almost in love with her, though her under- 
standing was by no means brilliant. u Pooh!" said 
Goethe, laughing, u as if love had anything to do with 



LOVE. 209 

understanding ! We love a girl for very different things 
than understanding. We love her for her beauty, her 
youth, her mirth, her confidingness, her character, with 
its faults, caprices, and heaven knows what other inex- 
pressible charms ; but we do not love her understanding. 
Her mind we esteem (if it is brilliant,) and it may greatly 
elevate her in our opinion; nay, more, it may enchain 
us when we already love. But her understanding is not 
that which awakens and inflames our passions." Love 
bestows understanding upon women, and takes it away 
from man. " The lover," says Shakespeare, "can see a 
Helen in a brow of Egypt." 

Woman loves more than man because she sacrifices 
more. For every woman it is with the food of the heart 
as with that of the body ; it is possible to exist on a very 
small quantity, but that small quantity is an absolute 
necessity. Woman loves or abhors ; man admires or 
despises. Woman without love is a fruit without flavor. 
In love, the virtuous woman says no; the passionate says 
yes; the capricious says yes and no j the coquette neither 
yes nor no. A coquette is a rose from whom every lover 
plucks a leaf; the thorn remains for the future husband. 
She may be compared to tinder which catches sparks, 
but does not always succeed in lighting a match. Love, 
while it frequently corrupts pure hearts, often purifies 
corrupt hearts. How well he knew the human heart 
who said, "we wish to constitute all the happiness, or if 
that cannot be, the misery of the one we love." Reason 
is only the last resource of love. 

He that loves upon the account of virtue, can never be 
weary; because there are always fresh charms to attract 
and entertain him. Solid love, whose root is virtue, can 
no more die than virtue itself. It is by no means certain 
that Mark Anthony, when he gave the world for love, 
didn't make a sharp bargain. 

He who loves a lady's complexion, form and features, 

loves not her true self, but her soul's old clothes. The 

love that has nothing but beauty to sustain it, soon 

withers and dies. The love that is fed with presents 

always requires feeding. Love, and love only, is the 
14 



210 LOVE. 

loan for love. Love is of the nature of a burning glass. 
Which, kept still in one place, fireth ; changed often, it 
doth nothing. The purest joy we can experience in one 
we love, is to see that person a source of happiness to 
others. 

The affection that links together man and wife is a far 
holier and more enduring passion than the enthusiasm of 
young love. It may want its gorgeousness- — it may want 
its imaginative character, but it is far richer, and holier, 
and more trusting in its attributes. Talk not to us of 
the absence of love in wedlock. No ! it burns with a 
steady and brilliant flame, shedding a benign influence 
upon existence, a million times more precious and de- 
lightful than the cold dreams of philosophy. Domestic 
love ! Who can measure its height or its depth ? Who 
can estimate its preserving and purifying power? It 
sends an ever swelling stream of life through a house- 
hold, it binds hearts into one "bundle of life;" it shields 
them from temptation, it takes the sting from disappoint- 
ments and sorrow, it breathes music into the voice, into 
the footsteps, it gives worth and beauty to the com- 
monest office, it surrounds home with an atmosphere of 
moral health, it gives power to effort and wings to pro- 
gress, it is omnipotent ; God in love. 

The love which survives the tomb, is one of the no- 
blest attributes of the soul. If we still love those we 
lose, we can not altogether lose those we love. Oh, man, 
fear not for thy affections, and feel no dread lest time 
should efface them ! There is neither to-day nor yester- 
day in the powerful echoes of memory — there is only 
always. He who no longer feels, has never felt. There 
are two memories — the memory of the senses, which 
wears out with the senses, and in which perishable things 
decay ; and the memory of the soul, for which time does 
not exist, and which lives over, at the same instant, every 
moment of its past and present existence. Fear not, ye 
who love. Time has power over hours, none over the 
soul. Love is the great instrument and engine of nature, 
the bond and cement of society, the spring and spirit of 
the universe. It is of that active, restless nature, that it 



LOVE. 211 

must of necessity exert itself; and like the fire, to which 
it is so often compared, it is not a free agent to choose 
whether it will heat or no, but it streams forth by natu- 
ral results, and unavoidable emanations, so that it will 
fasten upon an inferior, unsuitable object, rather than 
none at all. The soul may sooner leave off to subsist 
than to love, and like the vine, it withers and dies if it 
has no thins; to embrace. 

At first it surprises one that love should be made the 
principal staple of all the best kinds of fiction; and, 
perhaps it is to be regretted that it is only one kind of 
love that is chiefly depicted in works of fiction. But 
that love itself is the most remarkable thing in human 
life, there can not be the slightest doubt. For, see what 
it will conquer. It is not only that it prevails over 
selfishness, but it has the victory over weariness, tire- 
someness and familiarity. When } r ou are with the per- 
son loved, you have no sense of being bored. This 
humble and trivial circumstance is the great test— the 
only sure and abiding test of love. With the persons 
you do not love you are never supremely at your ease. 
You have some of the sensation of walking upon stilts. 
In conversation with them, however much you admire 
them and are interested in them, the horrid idea will 
cross your mind of "What shall I say next?" Converse 
with them is not perfect association. But with those 
you love, the satisfaction in their presence is not unlike 
that of the relations of the heavenly bodies to one an- 
other, which, in their silent revolutions, lose none of 
their attractive power. The sun does not talk to the 
world, but it attracts it. 

Remember that love is dependent upon forms — cour- 
tesy of etiquette guards and protects courtesy of heart. 
How many hearts have been lost irrecoverably, and how 
many averted eyes and cold looks have been gained from 
what seemed, perhaps, but a trifling negligence of forms. 
Men and women should not be judged by the same rules. 
There are many radical differences in their affectional 
natures. Man is the creature of interest and ambition. 
His nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle 



212 COURTSHIP. 

of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his 
early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. 
He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's 
thoughts, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a 
woman's whole life is a history of the affections. The 
heart is her world ; it is there her ambition strives for 
empire ; it is there her ambition seeks for hidden trea- 
sures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; 
she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection ; 
and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless — for it is bank- 
ruptcy of the heart. Some one has said that woman 
loves with her heart, and man with his head. Madame 
DeStael says, u Love, in a woman's life, is a history ; in 
man's, an episode." It has been said, that love is the 
king of the young, and the tyrant of the old ; and that 
coldness strengthens strong love, just as physical cold- 
ness makes strong people more vigorous and weak ones 
more puny. 

Some writer asserts that, "a French woman will love 
her husband if he is either witty or chivalrous ; a Ger- 
man woman, if he is constant and faithful ; a Dutch wo- 
man, if he does not disturb her ease and comfort too 
much; a Spanish woman, if he wreaks vengeance on 
those who incur his displeasure ; an Italian woman, if he is 
dreamy and poetical ; a Danish woman, if he thinks that 
her native country is the brightest and happiest on earth ; 
a Russian woman, if he despises all westerners as miser- 
able barbarians ; an English woman, if he succeeds in in- 
gratiating himself with the court and the aristocracy ; 
an American woman, if — he has plenty of money. 

There are two classes of disappointed lovers — those 
who are disappointed before marriage, and the more 
unhappy ones who are disappointed after it. To be de- 
prived of a person we love is a happiness in comparison 
of living with one we hate. 



COURTSHIP. 
Falling in love is an old fashion, and one that will yet 



COURTSHIP. 213 

endure. Cobbett, a good sound Englishman, twitted 
Malthus, the anti-population writer, with the fact, that 
do all he could, and all that government could — ay, all 
that twenty thousand governments could — he could not 
prevent courting and falling in love. "Between fifteen 
and twenty-two," said he, "all people will fall in love.' 1 
Shakespeare pushes out this season to the age of forty- 
five. Old Burton, writing on love-melancholy, gives 
us a still further extension of the lease: and certainly 
"there be old fools as well as young fools." But no one 
is absolutely free from the universal passion. The Greek 
epigram on a statue of Cupid, which Voltaire, amongst 
a hundred of others, has happily produced, is perfectly 
true : 

"Whoe'er thou art, thy master see ! 
Who was, or is, or is to be." 

Probably no one escapes from the passion. We find 
in trials, and in criminal , history, that the quaintest, 
quickest of men, the most outwardly saintly, cold, stone- 
like beings, have had their moments of intense love- 
madness. Luckily love is as lawful as eating, when pro- 
perly indulged in. Cobbett tells us how an English 
yeoman loved and courted, and was loved in return ; 
and a prettier episode does not exist in the English lan- 
guage. Talk of private memoirs of courts, the gossip of 
this cottage is worth it all. Cobbett, who was a sergeant 
major in a regiment of foot, fell in love with the daughter 
of a sergeant of artillery, then in the same province of 
New Brunswick. He had not passed more than an hour 
in her company when, noticing her modesty, her quietude 
and her sobriety, he said, "that is the girl for me." Th@ 
next morning he was up early, and almost before it was 
light he passed the sergeant's house. There she was on 
the snow scrubbing out her washing tub. " That's the 
girl for me," again cried Cobbett, although she was not 
fourteen, and he nearly twenty-one. "From the first 
day I spoke of her," he writes, "I had no more thought 
of her being the wife of any other man than I had 
thought of her becoming a chest of drawers." He paid 
every attention, to her, and, young as she was, treated 



214 COURTSHIP. 

her with every confidence. He spoke of her as his friend, 
his second self. But in six months the artillery were or- 
dered to England and her father with them. Here indeed 
was a blow. Cobbett knew what Woolwich was, and 
what temptation a young and pretty girl would be sure 
to undergo. He therefore took, to her his whole fortune, 
150 guineas, the savings of his pay and overwork, and 
wrote to tell her that if she did not find her situation 
comfortable to take lodgings, and put herself to school, 
and not to work too hard, for he would be home in two 
years. But, as he says, u as the malignity of the devil 
would have it, we were kept abroad two years longer 
than our time." But at the end of four years Cobbett 
got his discharge. He found his girl a servant of all 
work, at five pounds a year, in the house of a Captain 
Brisca ; and without saying a word about the matter she 
put into his hands the whole of the one hundred and 
fifty guineas unbroken ! What a pretty tender picture 
is that ! — the young sergeant and the little girl of eight- 
een who had kept for four years the treasure untouched, 
waiting with patience her lover's return ! What kindly 
trust on both sides ! The historical painters of the Royal 
Academy give us scenes from English history of intrigue 
and bloodshed. Why can they not give us a scene of 
true English courtship like that ? Cobbett, who knew 
better how to write sterling English than many men of 
his own days, and most men of ours, does not forget to 
enlarge upon the scene, and dearly he loved his wife for 
her share of it ; but he does not forget to add, that with 
this love there was mixed "self-congratulations on this 
indubitable proof of the soundness of his own judge- 
ment." It is more than probable that eight girls out of 
ten would be as prudent and as good if their lovers would 
be as high-minded. 

Courtship, says the Bev. G. S. Weaver, should not 
seek to captivate, but to learn real character. Love 
character, not person merely. Feeling, not reason, leads 
astray. Courting the wrong way is by impulse, and not 
judgment ; by a process of wooing, and not of discovery ; 
an effort to please, and not a search for companionship ; 



COURTSHIP. 215 

with excitement, and not with calmness and deliberation ; 
in haste, and not with cautions prudence ; a vision of the 
heart, and not a solemn reality ; conducted by feeling, 
and not by reason ; so managed as to be a perpetual 
blandishment of pleasure the most intoxicating and de- 
lightful, and not a trying ordeal for the enduring reali- 
ties of solid and stubborn life ; a perpetual yielding up of 
every thing, and not a firm maintenance of every thing 
that belongs to the man or woman. In almost every 
particular false, and hence must be followed by evil con- 
sequences. 

The ostensible object of courtship is the choice of a 
companion. For no other object should any intercourse 
having the appearance of courtship be permitted or in- 
dulged in. It is a species of high handed fraud upon an 
unsuspecting heart, worthy of the heaviest penalty of 
public opinion, or law. The affections are too tender 
and sacred to be trifled with. He who does it is a wretch. 
He should be ranked among thieves, robbers, villains 
and murderers. He who steals money steals trash ; but 
he who steals affections without a return of similar affec- 
tions, steals that which is dearer than life and more pre- 
cious than wealth. His theft is a robbery of the heart. 

The young man and young woman who form a solemn 
matrimonial alliance at any age before they have attained 
manhood and womanhood, do it more in folly than in 
wisdom, more in passion than in love, do it at the risk 
of their life's peace, and the most fearful consequences 
that follow in the train of such matrimonial adventures. 
It can only be called a matrimonial adventure. They do 
it in childish ignorance. It is not possible for a youth 
at that age to have a judgment sufficiently matured, and 
a^ heart sufficiently subdued, to render him capable of 
forming an absolutely correct opinion upon a subject of 
such vast importance and such complicated results. Treat 
it lightly as you will, it is a subject of the most momen- 
tous importance to human virtue, prosperity and happi- 
ness, and involves much of the most intricate and pro- 
found philosophy of human life, conduct and character. 
A subject of such importance requires the matured powers 



216 COURTSHIP. 

of manhood and womanhood, and the experience and 
observation of such maturity. 

The name of God is not oftener blasphemed by the 
vulgar and thoughtless than is the so little understood 
word of u love" by the millions who think they enter 
matrimony under its pilotage. It has been wisely but 
sadly said, that years are necessary to cement a friend- 
ship, but months, and sometimes weeks and days, are 
considered enough to prepare for that holier state of 
matrimony. From false regard to public opinion, or as 
a matter of convenience, or for the mere purpose of secur- 
ing a home and being settled in life, thousands enter in- 
to the most sacred of human relations, wth no such feel- 
ings towards each other as will lead them to u bear and 
forbear." There is a popular feeling that it is somewhat 
a disgrace for a woman to pass through life unmarried ; 
and shrinking from that obloquy, multitudes marry ac- 
cording to the forms of law when they are not drawn to 
gether by any qualities of mind and soul, and there is 
no true marriage of heart. What wonder, then, that 
discontent and misery arise, and a divorce, if not sought, 
is often desired! Those who regard love as a flame that 
comes as a flash of gunpowder, must not feel disappoint- 
ed if the blackness and desolation that succeed a gun- 
powder flash is all that is left after their brief infatuation 
is over. All love before marriage should be a study for 
love after marriage. If not well understood, its power 
is apt to become exhausted. Love and courtship is to 
wedded love what horticulture in books is to horticul- 
ture in a garden. The power of love must be measured 
not by its intensity, but by its effects ; by its beneficence 
in bringing into play a higher range of motives, by the 
facilities it unfolds, by its skill in harmonizing different 
natures. One grand mistake is in supposing that love 
begun is love completed. The orchardist knows that 
blossoms are not apples, but the lover often thinks they 
are. The magistrate marries ; but marrying is not mat- 
ing. Not once in a hundred times do two natures 
brought side by side harmonize in every part. Of no- 
thing are people more ignorant than of human nature. 



COURTSHIP. 217 

Very rich and fruitful natures are often side by side with 
very barren ones ; noble ones with sordid ones ; exqui- 
sitely sensitive with intensely tough. And this all re- 
sults from the want of forethought evinced by people 
when about to marry. Nine out of ten look upon mar- 
riage much as they look upon the "grab-bag" at a gam- 
bling fair — something from which to snatch an article at 
a venture ; and the prizes are not much more numerous 
in the one than in the other. When there are fewer 
secret manoeuvres and tricks of courtship before mar- 
riage, there will be less unhappiness after. How often 
we see couples who are "engaged" trying to hide little 
foibles and eccentricities from the one they are expect- 
ing to live a life-time with ! How blind such a course 
is ! Then, if ever, the true characteristics of each should 
appear ! If anything is objectionable before marriage, 
how much more so after, when a lie is added to it ! Live 
true lives when you are "courting." Better an engage- 
ment should be broken off, thau a life should be wasted. 
Many counsel the young not to expect too much of love. 
That is an evil philosophy, however, which advises to 
moderation by undervaluing the possibilities of a true 
and glorious love. Happiness in this life depends more 
upon the capacity of loving than on any other single 
quality. If men lose all the treasure of love, it does not 
prove that the treasure is not to be found, but that they 
have not sought aright. Many men dig for diamonds in 
love, and only find pebbles in wedded life. The dia- 
monds are there, however, only they know not how to 
dig for them. In love there are many apartments ; but 
not to selfishness, sensuality, or arrogance, will love yield 
its full treasure. True love is social regeneration. It 
is a revolution ending with a new king and with a recon- 
struction of the soul. The way of the animal is self-seek- 
ing ; that of man, sacrifice. It is not what we get, but 
what we give, that makes us happy. It is not self-seek- 
ing, but benevolence, that pleases. It is the steady con- 
tinuity of love that alone can prove all its worth and 
blessedness. Our advice to the young, then, is, to love, 
but not love blindly. Justice is represented as blind, 



218 FLIRTING. 

in order that under no circumstances can she swerve one 
hair's-breadth from the right, from personal favor or pre- 
judice ; but Love, on the contrary, should use her eyes 
to the fullest extent that in days of courtship no stumb- 
ling-blocks should be left to be an annoyance after mar- 
riage. 

Courtships are the sweet and dreamy thresholds of 
unseen Edens, where half the world has paused in 
couples, talked in whispers, under the moonlight, and 
passed on, and never returned. Little squalls don't up- 
set the lover's boat : they drive it all the faster to port. 

One of the meanest things a young man can do, and 
it is not at all of uncommon occurrence, is to monopolize 
the time and attention of a young girl for a year, or 
more, without any definite object, and to the exclusion 
of other gentlemen, who, supposing him to have matri- 
monial intentions, absent themselves from her society. 
This selfish " dog-in-the-manger" way of proceeding 
should be discountenanced and forbidden by all parents 
and guardians. It prevents the reception of eligible 
offers of marriage, and fastens upon the young lady, when 
the acquaintance is finally dissolved, the unenviable and 
unmerited appellation of "flirt." Let all your dealings 
with women, young man, be frank, honest and noble. 
That many whose education and position in life would 
warrant our looking for better things, are culpably crimi- 
nal on these points, is no excuse for your short-comings. 
That woman is often injured, or wronged, through her 
holiest feelings, adds but a blacker dye to your meanness. 
One rule is always safe : Treat every woman you meet as 
you would wish another man to treat your innocent r con- 
fiding sister. 



FLIRTING. 

When a young girl embarks upon the dissipation of 
a fashionable life, I tremble for her as for a fair woman 
who enters a small pox hospital. Unless her moral na- 
ture has been vaccinated by some principle which acts 
as a preventive, ten to one she will contract that odious 



FLIRTING. 219 

disease called flirting. If her heart has been previously 
vaccinated with love, for instance, she may escape, pro- 
vided it is not of long standing, — for in the majority of 
cases, love, after a time, is weakened, and needs renew- 
ing just as the vaccine virus does in the physical system. 
The disease of flirting once contracted — though the pati- 
ent may recover from it — she will bear the marks to her 
dying day. Her nature is never again the fair, beautiful 
thing it once was, but a scarred, defaced mass. There 
is nothing which so wastes the heart as this same flirting. 
My bachelor readers, let me whisper something in your 
ear : No woman who has passed through a flirtation has 
an entire heart to offer. What shall we say then of her 
who has grown gray at it? (I mean one who would be 
gray if a year was added for every flirtation.) Why, if 
she had any heart left, it is microscopic. But don't con- 
found things. You needn't be afraid of woman because 
she has loved some other man before you. If it was a 
true, honest love, it didn't hurt her. Such a feeling en- 
riches and ennobles the heart. A nature penetrated by 
it is like gold ore permeated by heat — the dross is being 
consumed and the gold refined ;- while the heart which is 
tenanted at one corner — as is the case in a flirtation — may 
be likened to ice on a glass — melting at one point, while 
the mass is unaffected. I might, if I couldn't do any 
better, accept a heart which had been subjected to one 
such melting, wasting process, but I would not consider 
myself under any great obligations to a woman who 
should lay at my feet the little piece of the article which 
would remain after a dozen such operations. 

It is the flirt, and those who sacrifice feminine dignity 
to giddiness, that make so many men sceptical as to wo- 
man's worth, and of course swell the ranks of sneering 
and cynical bachelors. Passionate men are not so difficult 
to manage as those cool-headed ones who take no decisive 
step without mature consideration. Wound their confi- 
dence, especially their trust in woman, and the offence 
is mortal. They may forgive, but the concession is so 
tinged with scorn. Poets say, a woman slighted is a 
fury roused ; men, however, when they discover that 



220 FLIRTING. 

their most tender feelings have been trifled with, paraded 
in exultant weakness before the gaze of others, shrink 
within themselves, and generally ever afterwards present 
to the world at large an outward form cased in steel. 
A great proportion of these disturbances of the economy 
of the dearest of the domestic affections may be attributed 
to the volatility of girls who delight in having confidantes, 
who in the lamentable majority of instances generally 
turn out snakes in the grass. An engagement between 
young people should be understood by their friends and 
acquaintances, not talked about in the cant of idle gossip. 

One reason why young men defer marrying to a later 
period of life, is the bad examples they see among their 
relatives and acquaintances of ill-assorted unions. Giddi- 
ness of deportment in young women is not sprightliness, 
nor excess of vivacity an accomplishment. Men, it must 
be confessed, are extremely fastidious creatures, and 
difficult to please, but in one respect they are unanimous 
and consistent ; they prefer in a woman an even, equa- 
ble temperament. Having, themselves, the more ardent 
and coarse impulses, they dislike them in women ; and 
hence their lasting, unchangeable love, the fond devotion 
which the boldest and the most impetuous of men lavish 
upon the most delicate and reserved of the other sex. 
We therefore say advisedly, that if woman studied the 
philosophy of conduct more, and the fashions less, there 
would not be so many of them unmarried as there are at 
present. 

The cynic sneers at first love, the philosopher analyses 
it with an inquiring mind, but the poet worships it with 
the heart's worship. Which is the right? We incline 
to the poet. His exquisite perceptions and sensibilities 
direct him like an instinct; and instinct never errs. A 
first love is like the first bud some young and tender 
plant puts forth — a thing of promise and of beauty — 
pure as childhood's kiss — lovely as spring's earliest smile. 
Neglect may wither, untimely frosts may chill it before 
it can expand into a fragrant flower, and the plant send 
forth other buds ; but none so delicate and pure, so 
grateful to the heart and senses. Yet, much as is said 



ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. . 221 

about the freshness of a first love, there are many whose 
second love is better w r orth having than the first love of 
others. 

All the advice which I have given my bachelor read- 
ers, I freely tender to the ladies also. Male flirts should 
be avoided still more than those of the opposite sex, for 
the former haven't as much heart to begin with as the 
latter, therefore they can more poorly afford the waste 
consequent upon flirtation. 

If the men did not encourage coquettes so much there 
would not be so many of them. If men dislike coquetry, 
why do they encourage it ? Why do they often leave a 
sensible, well-informed woman to play " wall-flower," 
while they talk nonsense to some brainless doll, who can 
only ogle, sigh and simper ? It appears to us that men 
are to blame for most of the faults of women. We 
always regret to hear a man who has matrimonial views 
say of a girl, she don't know much, but she is amiable, 
has a pretty face, and after all, if I need society, it is 
easy enough to find it anywhere. A man has no right 
to marry a woman with intentions so widely diverse from 
those he professes to entertain, when he vows to be a 
husband ; he is responsibly blame-worthy for the conse- 
quences that result from such an act ; beside, it is a very 
mistaken notion some men seem to have, that a fool is 
easily managed; there is no description of animal so 
difficult to govern : what they lack in brains they are 
sure to make up in obstinacy, or a low kind of cunning. 
Then a pretty face cannot last forever, and the old age 
of a brainless beauty we shudder to contemplate, even at 
a distance. Women aim to be what men oftenest like to 
see them ; you may, therefore, easily' guage the mascu- 
line standard by the majority of women one daily meets. 



ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 

"When a man hath taken a new wife he shall not go to war, neither 
shall he be charged with any business, but he shall be free at home 
one year and cheer up the wife which he has taken." — Deut. 24:5. 

None but the married man has a home in his old age. 



222 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 

None has friends then, but he ; none but he knows and 
feels the solace of the domestic hearth ; none but he lives 
and freshens in his green old age, amid the affections of 
his children. There is no tear shed for the old bachelor ; 
there is no ready hand and kind heart to cheer him in 
his loneliness and bereavement ; there is none in whose 
eyes he can see himself reflected, and from whose lips 
he can receive the unfailing assurances of care and love. 
He may be courted for his money ; he may eat and 
drink and revel ; and he may sicken and die in a hotel 
or a garret, with plenty of attendants about him, like so 
many cormorants waiting for their prey ; but he will 
never know the comforts of the domestic fireside. 

The guardians of the Holborn Union lately advertised 
for candidates to fill the situation of engineer at the 
workhouse, a single man, a wife not being allowed to re- 
side on the premises. Twenty-one candidates presented 
themselves, but it was found that as to testimonials, 
character, workmanship, and appearance, the best men 
were all married men. The guardians had therefore to 
elect a married man. 

A man who avoids matrimony on account of the cares 
of wedded life, cuts himself off from a great blessing for 
fear of a trifling annoyance.' He rivals the wise-acre who 
secured himself against corns by having his legs ampu- 
tated. In his selfish anxiety to live unencumbered, 
he only subjects himself to a heavier burden ; for the 
passions, that apportion to every individual the load he 
is to bear through life, generally say to the calculating 
bachelor — u As you are a single man you shall carry 
double." The Assurance Magazine, an English periodi- 
cal, makes the statement, that in the two periods of life, 
20 to 25 and 25 to 30, the probability of a widower mar- 
rying in a year is nearly three times as great as that of a 
bachelor ; at 30 it is four times as great ; at 60 the chances 
of a widower marrying in a year is eleven times as great 
as that of a bachelor. After the age of 30 the proba- 
bility of a bachelor marrying in a year diminishes in a 
most rapid ratio ; the probability at 85 is not much 
more than half that at 30, and nearly the same propor- 



ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 223 

tion exists between each period of five years afterwards." 
A married man, falling into misfortune, is more apt to 
retrieve his situation in the world than a single one, 
chiefly because his spirits are soothed and retrieved by 
domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive 
by finding, that although all abroad be darkness and 
humiliation, yet there is a little world of love at home 
over which he is a monarch. Jeremy Taylor says, "If you 
are for pleasure, marry ; if you prize rosy health, marry. 
A good wife is heaven's last best gift to man — his angel 
of mercy —minister of graces innumerable — his gem of 
many virtues — -his casket of jewels— her voice, his sweet- 
est music — her smiles, his brightest day — her kiss the 
guardian of innocence — her arms the pale of his safety, 
the balm of his health, the balsam of his life — her indus- 
try, his surest wealth — her economy, his safest steward — : 
her lips, his faithful counsellors — -her bosom the softest 
pillow of his cares — -and her prayers the ablest advocates 
of heaven." He considered marriage "a nursery of hea- 
ven," and "the greatest interest in the world next to the 
last throw for eternity." 

Doubtless you have remarked with satisfaction, says a 
writer in Freezer's Magazine, the little oddities of men 
who marry rather late in life are pruned away speedily 
after marriage. You may have found a man who used 
to be shabbily and carelessly dressed, with huge shirt- 
collar frayed at the edges, and a glaring yellow silk 
pocket-handkerchief, broken of these and become a pat- 
tern of neatness. You have seen a man whose hair and 
whiskers were ridiculously cut, speedily become like 
other human beings. You have seen a clergyman who 
wore a long bes.rd in a little while appear without one. 
You have seen a man who used to sing ridiculous senti- 
mental songs leave them off You have seen a man who 
took snuff copiously, and who generally had his breast 
covered with snuff, abandon the vile habit. A wife is 
the grand wielder of the moral pruning knife. If John- 
son's wife had lived, there would have been no hoarding 
of bits of orange peel ; no touching all the posts in walk- 
ing along the street ; no eating and drinking with a dis- 



224 ADVANTAGES OF WEDLOCK. 

gusting voracity. If Oliver Goldsmith had been married, 
he would never have worn that memorable and ridicu- 
lous coat, Whenever you find a man whom you know lit- 
tle about, oddly dressed, or talking ridiculously, or ex- 
hibiting any eccentricity of manner, you may be toler- 
ably sure that he is not a married man. For the little 
corners are rounded off, the little shoots are pruned 
away, in married men. Wives generally have much 
more sense than their husbands, especially when the 
husbands are clever men. The wife's advices are like 
the ballast that keeps the ship steady. They are like 
the wholesome though painful shears snipping off the 
little growths of self-conceit and folly. 

Robert Southey says a man may be cheerful and con- 
tented in celibacy, but I do not think he can ever be 
happy ; it is an unnatural state, and the best feelings of 
his nature are never called into action. The risks of 
marriage are for the greater part on the woman's side. 
Women have so little the power of choice, that it is not 
perhaps fair to say that they are less likely to choose well 
than we are; but I am persuaded that they are more 
frequently deceived in the attachments they form, and 
their opinions concerning men are less accurate than 
men's opinion of their sex. Now, if a lady were to re- 
proach me for having said this, I should only reply that 
it was another mode of saying there are more good wives 
in the world than there are good husbands, which I verily 
believe. I know of nothing which a good and sensible 
man is so certain to find, if he looks for it, as a good wife. 

Somebody has said, "before thou marry, be. sure of a 
house wherein to tarry." And see, my friend, that you 
make your house a home. A house is a mere skeleton of 
bricks, laths, plaster, and wood ; a home is a residence 
not merely of the body but of the heart. It is a place for 
the affections to develope themselves — for children to 
love, and learn, and play in — for husband and wife to toil 
smilingly together to make life a blessing. A house where 
a wife is a slattern and a sloven cannot be a home ; a house 
where there is no happy fireside, no book, no newspaper 
— above all, where there is no religion and no Bible, how 



SELECTING A WIFE. 225 

can it be a home ? My bachelor brother, there cannot, by 
any possibility, be a home where there is no wife. To 
talk of a home without love, we might as well expect to 
find an English fireside in one of the pyramids of Egypt. 
There is a world of wisdom in the following : — " Every 
schoolboy knows that a kite would not fly unless it had a 
string tying it down. It is just so in life. The man who 
is tied down by half-a-dozen blooming responsibilities and 
their mother, will make a higher and stronger flight than 
the bachelor who, having nothing to keep him steady, is 
always floundering in the mud. If you want to ascend in 
the world, tie yourself to somebody." 

"Jenny is poor, and I am poor, 

Yet we will wed — so say no more ; 

And should the bairnies to us come, 

As few that wed but do have some ; 

No doubt but heaven will stand our friend, 

And bread as well as children send ; 

So fares the hen in the farmer's yard, 

To live alone she finds it hard ; 

I've known her weary every claw, 

In search of corn among the straw ; 

But when in quest of nicer food, 

She clucks among her chirping brood ; 

With joy we see the self -same hen, 

That scratched for one co'd scratch for ten ; 

These are the tho'ts that make me willing, 

To take my girl without a shilling ; 

And for the self-same cause, you see, 

Jenny resolves to marry me." 



SELECTING A WIFE. 

Lamb says, "Men marry for fortune, and sometimes to 
please their fancy ; but much oftener than is suspected, 
they consider what the world will say of it, how such a 
woman, in their friends' eyes, will look at the head of a 
table. Hence we see so many insipid beauties made 
wives of, that could not have struck the particular fancy 
of any man that had any fancy at all. These, I call, 
furniture wives ; as men buy furniture pictures because 
they suit this or that niche in their dining room parlors. 
Your universally cried-up beauties are the very last choice 
which a man of taste would make. What pleases all can 
not have that individual charm which make this or that 

15 



226 SELECTING A WIFE. 

countenance engaging to you, only, perhaps, you Know 
not why." The best dowry to advance the marriage of 
a young lady, is mildness in her countenance, wisdom in 
her speech, modesty in her behavior, and virtue in her 
life. She who knows merely how to dress, dance and 
flirt, will never make a good wife. In marriage, prefer 
the person before wealth, virtue before beauty, and the 
mind before the body, then you have a wife, a friend, 
and a companion. Don't marry too smart a girl, for she 
will outrun you ; nor one too simple, for children take 
their talents from -their mother; nor too rich, for she will 
remind you of it ; nor too poor, for she will act the beg- 
gar on horseback. In medio tutisimus ibis. Many a 
philosopher who thought he had an exact knowledge of 
the human race, has been miserably cheated in the choice 
of a wife. Not every man who dives into the sea of 
matrimony brings up a pearl. 

We know that men naturally shrink from the attempt 
to obtain companions who are their superiors, but they 
will find that really intelligent women, who possess the 
most desirable qualities, are uniformly modest, and hold 
their charms in modest estimation. Don't imagine that 
any disappointment in love which takes place before you 
are twenty-one years old will be of any material damage 
to you. The truth is, that before a man is twenty-five 
years old he does not know what he wants himself. The 
more ol a man you become, and the more manliness you 
become capable of exhibiting in your association with 
women, the better wife you will be able to obtain ; and 
one year's possession of the heart and hand of a really 
noble woman is worth nine hundred and ninety-nine 
years' possession of a sweet creature with two ideas in 
her head, and nothing new to say about either of them. 

Take especial and seasonable care, if you are a mail, 
that your children shall not have a fool for a mother.; 
and, if you are a woman, that they shall not have an ass 
for a father. The leading features in the character of a 
good woman are mildness, complaisance, and equanimity 
of temper. The man, if he be a worldy and provident 
husband, is immersed in a thousand cares. His mind is 



SELECTING A WIFE. 227 

agitated, his memory loaded, and his body fatigued. He 
retires from the bustle of the world, chagrined perhaps 
by disappointment, angry at insolent and perfidious peo- 
ple, and terrified lest his unavoidable connections with 
such people should make him appear perfidious himself. 
Is this the time for the wife of his bosom, his dearest and 
most intimate friend, to add to his vexations, to increase 
the fever of an over-burdened mind, by a contentious 
tongue or a discontented brow ? Business, in its most 
prosperous state, is full of anxiety and turmoil. Oh ! how 
dear to the memory of man is the wife who clothes her 
face in smiles, who uses gentle expressions, and who 
makes her lap soft to receive and hush his cares to rest. 
There is not in nature so fascinating an object as a faith- 
ful, tender and affectionate wife. 

If you want to know certainly, says Dr. W. W. Hall, 
whether the young lady you think of addressing is a 
fairy or a fury, tread on her skirt in the street when she 
is not aware of you being within a mile of her, and "take 
an observation" of that face, usually "divine," at the in- 
stant of its being turned upon you. If, out of any thou- 
sand ladies promenading the street, you wish to make a 
selection for a wife who shall combine taste, tidiness, 
and a true economy, w^alk behind and notice if in shawl 
or dress, mantilla, cloak, or what-not, there are creases, 
grease-spots, specks of dried mud, or lint, or string, or 
feather ; if you do, let her go, for creases show that she 
huddles her garments away, because too lazy to fold them 
up carefully: a grease-spot proves that she will flop her- 
self down any where, consulting personal ease in prefer- 
ence to all other considerations ; and any woman who 
recklessly runs the risk of soiling a garment irretrievably, 
rather than take the pains to throw her head half round 
to see whether she is not about sitting on a lump of but- 
ter or in a pool of tobacco juice, is utterly unworthy of 
a husband, and is as destitute of any true moral princi- 
ple as she is of innate purity. A dried speck of mud or 
piece of lint shows she is a hypocrite or a slouch, as it 
proves that she is careful only of such parts of her ap- 
parel as she thinks most likely to be seen. 



228 A HINT TO YOUNG LADIES. 

Now, John, listen to me, said an old lady, for I am 
older than you, or I couldn't be your mother. Never 
do you marry a young woman, John, before you contrive 
to drop in at the house where she lives, at least four or 
five times before breakfast. You should notice whether 
the complexion is the same, or if the morning wash and 
the towel have robbed her of her bloom. You should 
take care to surprise her, so that you may see her in her 
morning dress, and observe how her hair looks when 
she is not expecting you. If possible, you should hear 
the morning conversation between her and her mother. 
If she is ill-natured or snappish to her mother, so she will 
be to you, depend on it. But if you find her up and 
dressed neatly in the morning, with the same counte- 
nance, the same neatly combed hair, the same ready and 
pleasant answers to her mother, which characterize her 
appearance and deportment in the evening, and particu- 
larly if she is lending a hand to get breakfast ready in 
good season, she is a prize, John, and the sooner you 
secure her to yourself the better. 

Let the young man marry her whom his head and 
heart both approve. Beware of her who deceives her 
paren!s. 

" Have a quick eye to see ; 

She has deceived her father, and may thee." — Shak. 



A HINT TO YOUNG LADIES. 

There is no city, there is scarcely a township, which 
does not number among its inhabitants women who have 
married on a very short acquaintance, only to be abused, 
deserted, and left a life-long sorrow in the families in 
which they were reared, and which they imprudently 
and improperly deserted to share the fortune of rela- 
tive strangers. If young ladies would only realize how 
grossly indelicate, as well as culpably reckless, such mar- 
riages appear to the eyes of the observing, they surely 
would forbear. A year's thorough acquaintance with 
the most circumstantial accounts from disinterested and 
reliable witnesses, of the antecedents from childhood, are 



MARRIAGE. 



229 



the very best guarantees of which any woman who real- 
izes what marriage is, will require of a stranger. Even 
then, if her parents are not fully satisfied as well as her- 
self, she should still hesitate. Marriage is an undertak- 
ing in which no delay can be so hazardous as undue 
precipitation. 



MARRIAGE. 

The holiest bond into which two human beings ever 
entered, is that of marriage as regarded throughout 
Christendom. It would be easy to show that to both 
sexes, and to our common civilization, Christian marri- 
age has been as elevating and ennobling, as it is holy. 
Upon it must ever depend the moral and social equality 
and the mutual esteem of the sexes. Upon it, also, must 
depend purity of lineage and harmony of blood relation- 
ships. To show how superior are all its influences, it 
would only be necessary to contrast the peoples who 
practice monogamic marriage with those who indulge in 
polygamy. The sturdier physical stamina, the higher 
and more active intellect, the braver industry and enter- 
prise, the loftier virtues and the purer moralities, will all 
be found with the races and communities that have put 
on the Christian marriage curb. Enervation and deca- 
dence are stamped upon all the nations in which the 
companionship of the sexes is not regulated by the Chris- 
tian rule. And of all things tending to corrupt the in- 
fluence, and lessen the sacredness of this true marriage 
principle, none are so blighting and deadly as undue 
facilities for annulling the marriage tie. Many an ''in- 
compatibility of temper," and other domestic difference, 
would have been smothered and buried, instead of hav- 
ing been nursed to quenchless feud, had there been less 
accessible legal avenues to divorce. The facilities pro- 
vided by indiscreet legislation, have been the prime 
cause of thousands of separations and family wrecks, 
which would not otherwise have occurred. Therefore, 
do we rejoice, that in some of the States of our Union, 



230 MARRIAGE. 

where divorce has been most scandalously accessible, a 
better sense has moved the law-makers to amend their 
statutes so as to give greater sanctity and security to 
the marriage tie. We hold in the very nature of things,, 
as well as from a careful consideration of human nature, 
and the social history of the world, that the two chief bul- 
warks of civilization and humanity — as, indeed, of all vir- 
tuous progress — are the sacred observance of the Chris- 
tian marriage, and the Christian Sabbath. Without these, 
society must fluctuate with the pulse, or impulse of 
human passion, with no restraint save the retributive re- 
actions periodically inevitable in such a social state. 

When the honeymoon passes away, setting behind dull 
mountains, or dipping silently into the stormy sea of life r 
the trying hour of married life has come. Between the 
parties there are no more illusions. The feverish desire 
for possession has gone, and all excitement receded. 
Then begins, or should, the business of adaptation. If 
they find that they do not love one another as they 
thought they did, they should double their assiduous at- 
tentions to one another, and be jealous of everything 
which tends in the slightest way to separate them. Life 
is too precious to be thrown away in secret regrets or 
open differences. And let me say to every one to whom 
the romance of life has fled, and who are discontented in 
the slightest degree with their conditions and relations, 
begin this reconciliation at once. Renew the attentions 
of earlier days. Draw your hearts close together. Talk 
the thing all over. Acknowledge your faults to one an- 
other, and determine that henceforth you will be all in 
all to each other ; and my word for it, you shall find in 
your relation the sweetest joy earth has for you. There 
is no other way for you to do. If you are happy at 
home, you must be happy abroad ; the man or woman 
who has settled down upon the conviction that he or she 
is attached for life to an uncongenial yoke-fellow, and 
that there is no way of escape, has lost life ; there is no 
effort too costly to make which can restore to its setting 
upon the bosom the missing pearl. 

u Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest, all the 



MARRIAGE. 231 

days of thy life." — Ecclesiastes, ix, 9. How to secure this 
happiness ot married life ? "It would be a bold undertak- 
ing to answer that question," some determined celibate 
may say, u You might as well ask how to find the Philoso- 
pher's stone, or the elixir of perpetual youth, or the Eu- 
topia of perfect society ?" The prime difficulty in the 
case is the entire thoughtlessness, the want of considera- 
tion, common sense and practical wisdom. Not only 
young persons contemplating marriage — which includes 
all between the age of eighteen and thirty-five — but also 
many married people have a vague notion that happiness 
comes of itself. They wait for certain dreams of Ely- 
sium to be fulfilled by beatific realities. Happiness does 
not come of its own accord nor by accident. It is not 
a gift, but an attainment. Circumstances may favor, but 
can not create it. In every Paradise there is a forbidden 
fruit, some Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil ; and, 
unless the serpent, the tempter, be kept out, the enjoy- 
ment of Eden will be as short now as it was when the 
first married couple lost it. Even where everything 
promises well, prudence and foresight are needed to 
prevent fatal mistakes, and moderate expectations should 
be encouraged, to avoid serious disappointments. Per- 
haps the best general rule is not to expect too much ; 
for as long as men and women continue to be such, and 
not cherubim and seraphim, the annoyances and vexa- 
tions of life can not be avoided. But such advice to 
those who stand, or mean to stand by the hymeneal altar, 
falls upon dull ears, and every coupled pair flatter them- 
selves that their experience will be better and more ex- 
cellent than that of any who have gone before them. 
They look with amazement at the tameness, and coldness, 
and diversities, and estrangements, and complainings, and 
dissatisfactions, which spoil the comfort of so many 
homes, as at things which can not, by any possibility, 
fall to their happier lot. But like causes produce like 
effects, and to avoid the misfortunes of others we must 
avoid their mistakes. 

The first, or perhaps the antecedent duty of the hus- 
band is to provide a home. When the Scripture says, 



232 MARRIAGE. 

u God takes the solitary man and sets him in families,' 7 
it does not mean in boarding-houses or hotels. Home life 
is the proper and normal condition of marriage, and they 
who have no home of their own are not much better 
than half married after all. It is customary, I know, to 
conside this only from the economic point of view, or 
as a matter of convenience, or of social respectability, 
but we regard it in its religious and moral aspects, and, 
admitting that exceptional cases may exist, as to almost 
every general rule, we believe that, wisely considered, 
such cases are extremely rare, and that all the risks of 
married life are greatly increased and the probability of 
its permanent happiness very greatly diminished by the 
want of a proper home of its own. Under the Divine 
ordinance it is intended that husband and wife should be 
every thing to each other, constituting a sufficient society 
for the enjoyment of life, but if they are only two mem- 
bers of a large family, in which they have no special 
control, such feeling of mutual dependence can not exist, 
and the exclusive enjoyment of each other's society is 
continually disturbed. The most important experience 
of the new relation is to become well acquainted with 
each other. The acquaintance of courtship is a very one- 
sided affair, both parties seeing through the peculiar at- 
mosphere which magnifies virtues, changes defects into 
beauties, and makes the discovery of faults impossible ; 
and for the true development of character which leads to 
full acquaintanceship, the comparative isolation of a sep- 
arate home is, if not the indispensable, yet the most 
favorable condition. For the disenchantment will cer- 
tainly come, and those who had thought each other next 
to perfect will soon discover that some few imperfections 
and the common weaknesses of humanity remain. Dis- 
appointment is felt where there is no just reason for it; 
and the man finds out with unnecessary surprise, that he 
has not married an angel, and the woman that she has 
not married a saint. They had thought they were per- 
fectly adapted to each other, and that mutual concessions 
would involve no sell-deoial, and that whatever either 
.might desire the other would immediately yield. But 



MARRIAGE. 233 

experience teaches that the work of mutual adaptation 
is precisely what they have to learn, to understand each 
other's peculiarities and tastes, weaknesses and excellen- 
ces ; and by self-discipline and kindness of construction, 
on both sides, to receive and impart a modifying influ- 
ence, bringing them nearer each other all the time, until, 
through this interchangeable, moral and spiritual culture, 
the beautiful visions of "Love's young dream" are real- 
ized. This is by no means impossible. Every true mar- 
riage of sensible persons who really love each other, 
affords illustrations of it. The attachment becomes con- 
tinually more close, as more perfect understanding of 
each other exists; and if they live to celebrate their 
silver or golden wedding, the current of their affection 
will have become deeper and stronger, though it may 
seem to flow more noiselessly and quietly along. But 
the hope of this, which is unquestionably the best happi- 
ness this world affords, depends in a great degree upon 
the manner in which the first few years of married life 
are spent, and the success with which its earlier unavoid- 
able trials are met and overcome ; and the right place, 
the only proper place for meeting them is one's own 
home. Any where else it is done under disadvantage, 
with complications of meddlesome gossip, and officious 
kindness, and gratuitous advice, and invidious compari- 
sons, and lynx eyed observation to discover, and satirical 
tongues to report every neglect or fault, with well in- 
tentioned wickedness, and with other interferences too 
tedious to be mentioned, which those who have lived 
longest in caravansera life can most perfectly compre- 
hend. There are innumerable things to be learned by 
both parties in performance of their untried duties, in- 
volving experiments, and mistakes, and miscalculations, 
and the sooner they are learned the better, for the short- 
comings are a matter of joke and merriment in the ear- 
lier years, which become serious annoyances in later life. 
This is the reason why those who defer establishing their 
own home for several years, seldom succeed afterward 
in making one to their mind. They have become ac- 
customed to enjoy the comforts of life without trouble on 



234 MARRIAGE. 

their own part, to be waited upon, to receive hospitality 
without returning it, to live without care or labor, and 
thus contract habits of idleness, or idle visiting, or time 
killing, and afterward, if a more rational mode of life is 
attempted, in their own home, they find themselves too 
old to learn. Indolence and gossiping have spoilt them 
for the happiness of domestic life and its attendant cares ; 
and husband and wife, having learned not to depend 
upon each other for society, and having lost the oppor- 
tunity of that mutual accommodation to each other, of 
which we have just spoken, are partially unfitted for the 
exclusive, separate life, which wedlock is intended to 
establish. 

Married people should never be without a home of 
their own, from the day when they are united to the 
day of their death. By giving it up, they may save 
money and avoid trouble, but they are sure to lose hap- 
piness and substantial comfort, and a great part of the 
best uses of life. This is true at all times ; but there are 
no five years in which it is so important as those in 
which it is most frequently disregarded. 

The objection made is the expense. They can not 
afford the first outlay, and the continued expenditure in- 
volved. To which we might give a first and general an- 
swer, that until we can afford to provide a home we have 
no business to be married. But we admit that the objec- 
tion lies deeper and is more difficult of removal than at first 
appears. It consists in foolish habits of expenditure and 
in absurd social ambition, by which unreal necessities are 
created, and the problem of domestic life is made one of 
almost impossible solution. It is this which either pre- 
vents marriage or destroys its comfort. When a young 
woman who is accustomed to live and dress like a princess, 
and a man who has always expended his whole income on 
himself, contract an alliance, they must either have a 
large income to maintain the accustomed style, or adopt 
the very unaristocratic expedient of "lodgings" so as to 
keep up the appearance before the world, and economize 
in comfort for the sake of being extravagant in show. 
How much there is of this let every American city de- 



MARRIAGE. 235 

clare. A part of the evil, and no small part, is the fault 
of parents, who train their daughters so that nothing but 
wealth can make them happy, and economy is a virtue 
vulgar and hateful in their eyes ; but chiefly it is a gen- 
eral lack of good sense, false ideas of respectability, the 
want of independence, and an almost servile subjection 
to the opinion of what we call the world, which gener- 
ally means some fifteen or twenty of the silliest persons 
of our acquaintance. 

We account these two things essential to the happiness 
of married life : First, to have a home of one's own; and,, 
second, to establish it upon such a scale as to live dis- 
tinctly and clearly within one's means — if possible, not 
quite up to them, and by no possibility beyond them. 
A great proportion of the failures in wedlock may be 
traced directly to the neglect of the latter rule. . No man 
can feel happy or enjoy the comfort of his own fireside, 
who is spending more than he earns. Debt destroys his 
self-respect, puts him at variance with the world, and 
makes him irritable, ill-tempered, and hard to please. 
There is no Christian virtue, no Christian grace, that can 
keep company with the burdensome annoyance of debt. 
The thought of unpaid bills, and of rent falling due and 
unprovided for, destroys the relish of one's food and 
awakens him from the soundest sleep at night, and the 
luxuries for which the debts were contracted become 
loathesome in his sight. Then comes fault-finding and 
recrimination, and love flies out at the window when the 
sheriff threatens to come in at the door. Romantic peo- 
ple may talk as much as they please about indulgent 
husbands and fascinating wives, but the plain matter of 
fact is, that no attraction or charms in the wife, either of 
person or of mind,, are more available in keeping the 
husband's affection and respect, than the despised virtues 
of economy and thrift. By such care for his interests 
she confers daily benefits upon him, she lessens and: 
cheers his labor, she increases his credit, and enlarges his 
prosperity ; "She will do him good and not evil all the 
days of her life." The difference of result between such 
co-operation, and daily negligence and wastefulness, is 



236 MARRIAGE. 

often the whole difference between a happy and miser- 
able life. 

Do not, however, infer that the social ambition, which 
lives for show and not substance, and barters happiness 
for style — a birth-right for a mess of pottage — by which 
American society is so much cursed, is chargeable solely 
or chiefly to women. They may consent to it and ag- 
gravate it, but the men have the chief blame to bear. 
It is the husband's business to regulate expenses and the 
scale of living, and the wife will seldom urge him to go 
beyond his income, if he treats her like a woman, in whom 
confidence can be placed, and not as a puppet or a child ; 
and if she should so urge him, she would only despise 
him for yielding, and by proper exercise of authority he 
should put an end to the unreasonable request. But we 
are convinced that in this whole matter of extravagance, 
the wife is not the principal offender. The elegant house 
and costly furniture, the jewelry and expensive dress, 
are oftener his choosing than hers, given perhaps as 
proofs of his affection, but accepted rather than desired 
by her. She must, indeed, be "as one of the foolish 
women" who covets them or any other luxury, at the 
cost of his peace of mind. In the beginning of married 
life, especially, the young wife is more easily satisfied 
than her husband, and will generally be contented with 
whatever simplicity of style his circumstances can afford. 
If not, he has been crazy to marry her ; for if she is not 
willing to receive the best which he can honestly offer, 
their prospect of contentment or happiness is very bad, 
whether he be rich or poor. Shallow both in mind and 
character must they be who estimate the enjoyment of 
home by the style of living, or the neighborhood in 
which they live. 

No sensible person will account it a hardship to begin 
on a moderate scale ; and those who do thus begin and 
afterward attain to the possession of wealth, always look 
back to the "day of small things" with peculiar satisfac- 
tion as the golden age of their hearts, if not of their pur- 
ses. True affection delights in the opportunities of self- 
denial and in the little acts of personal service for which 



MARRIAGE. 237 

there is scarcely any place in the house of the rich. The 
husband and wife who literally take care of each other, 
depending comparatively little upon the vexatious inter- 
vention of servants, at the same time enjoy the duty and 
appreciate the kindness. The comforts which one owes 
directly to the wife's diligent and affectionate care and 
industry, are wonderfully different from those which 
money buys and are brought by mercenary hands. The 
costly gifts of riches, involving no labor or inconvenience, 
are prized for their splendor and beauty, and are accepted, 
perhaps as tokens of regard; but they are not half so 
precious as gifts, comparatively trifling, made valuable 
by the consecration of pains-taking and self-denial. I 
speak to many who have tried both experiences — who 
began in the most humble and moderate manner and have 
gradually worked upward — and they would all testify 
that, after the positive inconvenience of straitened cir- 
cumstances had passed, the happiest part of life was in 
the enjoyment of neither riches nor poverty, of moder- 
ate circumstances and quiet domestic life. They look 
back to those days as the happiest, when by mutual help- 
ing they gave and received the proofs of affection and 
tenderness. 

I am not so absurd as to sing the praise of poverty, 
for no one remains poor when he can help it ; but it cer- 
tainly has its compensations, and they who are afraid of 
marriages, or being married, deny themselves the luxury 
and inherent respectability of a home, because their house 
must be small and their furniture poplar instead of rose- 
wood, do not deserve "to be happy. Let them begin 
according to their means, however small, and honestly 
living within them be contented with what they have. 
Every added comfort, as they go onward, will be prized, 
and if wealth be at last attained it will be enjoyed, while 
those who begin at the top of earthly prosperity can at 
the best only remain there, and in the mutations of human 
affairs are most likely to come down. The truth is that, 
as already said, happiness, in any respectable sense of the 
word, depends very little upon what we have, and al- 
most entirely upon what we are. u Our life consisteth 



238 AFTER MARRIAGE. 

not in the abundance of things possessed," is as true of 
domestic life as of the individual. If we could only get 
rid of this absurd social ambition, neighborhood pride, 
servitude to opinion, worship of appearances, or what- 
ever you may call it ! If young married people could 
only understand that in their home arrangements they 
themselves are the only ones who have a right to be con- 
sulted, it would be easy enough to make home happy. 

How many are there who wait year after year without 
daring to buy the wedding ring, losing all the beauty 
and freshness of youth ; and how many others having 
ventured so far, remain homeless, the appendages of 
somebody else's household, in a sort of intermediate 
condition between single blessedness and connubial bliss, 
because they have not courage enough to face a frowning, 
or what is worse, a gossiping world, by living in a house 
and with furniture such as they can honestly afford! So- 
cial ambition is the bane, the destruction of domestic 
life. To regulate our expenditure by other people's in- 
come is the height of folly, and to contract debts for a 
style of living which is of our neighbor's choosing rather 
than our own, is nearly akin to insanity. The frog swell- 
ing himself to the size of the ox, until u he burst himself 
indeed," is a fit emblem of it, and financial bursting and 
domestic misery are the daily consequences. There is no 
happiness, social, domestic or individual, without inde- 
pendence ; and no dependence is so bitter as that of 
extravagance and debt. 



AFTER MARRIAGE. 

Many a woman has gone into her room and had a 
u good cry " because her husband called her by her bap- 
tismal name, and not by some absurd nickname invented 
in the days of their folly ; or because, pressed for time, 
he hurried out of the house without going through the 
established formula of leave-taking. The lover has 
merged into the husband ; security has taken the place 
of wooing ; and the woman does not take kindly to the 



AFTER MARRIAGE. 239 

transformation. Sometimes she plays a dangerous game, 
and tries what flirting with other men will do. If her 
scheme does not answer, and her husband is not made 
jealous, she is revolted, and holds herself that hardly- 
used being, a neglected wife. She cannot accept as a 
compliment the quiet trust which certain cool-headed 
men of a loyal kind, place in their wives ; and his toler- 
ance of her flirting manner- — which he takes to be manner 
only, with no evil in it, and with which, though he may 
not especially like, he does not interfere — seems to her 
indifference rather than tolerance. Yet the confidence 
implied in this forbearance is, in point of fact, a compli- 
ment worth all the jpetita soins ever invented, though this 
hearty faith is just the thing which annoys her, and which 
she stigmatizes as neglect. If she were to go far enough 
she would find out her mistake. But by that time she 
would have gone too far to profit by her experience. 

Nothing is more annoying than that display of affec- 
tion which some husbands and wives show to each other 
in society. That familiarity of touch, those half-concealed 
caresses, those absurd names, that prodigality of endear- 
ing epithets, that devoted attention which they flaunt in 
the face of the public as a kind of challenge to the world 
at large, to come and admire their happiness, is always 
noticed and laughed at. Yet to some women this pa- 
rade of love is the very essence of married happiness, 
and part of their dearest privileges. They believe them- 
selves admired and envied, when they are ridiculed and 
scoffed at ; and they think their husbands are models for 
other men to copy, when they are taken as examples for 
all to avoid. Men who have any real manliness, how- 
ever, do not give in to this kind of thing ; though there 
are some as effeminate and gushing as women themselves, 
who like this sloppy effusiveness of love, and carry it on 
into quite old age, fondling the ancient grandmother 
with gray hairs as lavishly as they had fondled the youth- 
ful bride, and seeing no want of harmony in calling a 
withered old dame of sixty and upwards by the pet 
names by which they had called her when she was a slip 
of a girl of eighteen. The continuance of love from 



240 AFTER MARRIAGE. 

youth to old age is very lovely, very cheering ; but even 
u John Anderson, my Jo," would lose its pathos if Mrs. 
Anderson had ignored the difference between the raven 
locks and the snowy brow. This public display of 
familiar affection is never seen among men who pride 
themselves on making good lovers, as certain men do — 
those who have reduced the practice of love-making to 
an art, a science, and know their lesson to a letter. 
These men are delightful to women, who like nothing so 
much as being made love to, as well after marriage as 
before ; but men who take matters quietly, and rely on 
the good sense of their wives to take matters quietly, 
too, sail round these scientific adorers for both depth and 
manliness. And if women knew their best interests they 
would care more for the trust than the science. 

All that excess of flattering and petting of which 
women are so fond, becomes a bore to a man if required 
as part of the daily habit of life. Out in the world as 
he is, harrassed by anxieties of which she knows nothing, 
home is emphatically his place of rest, where his wife is 
his friend who knows his mind, where he may be himself 
without fear of offending, and relax the strain that must 
be kept up out of doors ; where he may feel himself 
safe, understood, and at ease. And some women, and 
these by no means the coldest or the least loving, are 
wise enough to understand this need of rest in the man's 
harder life, and accepting the quiet of security as part 
of the conditions of marriage, content themselves with 
the undemonstrative love into which the fever of passion 
has subsided. Others fret over it, and make themselves 
and their husbands wretched because they cannot believe 
in that which is not forever paraded before their eyes. 
Yet what kind of a home is it for the man if he has to 
walk as if on egg-shells, every moment afraid of wound- 
ing the susceptibilities of a woman who will take nothing 
on trust, and who has to be continually assured that he 
still loves her, before she will believe that to-day is as 
yesterday? Of one thing she may be certain; no wife 
who understands what is the best kind of marriage de- 
mands these continual attentions, which, voluntary 



AFTER MARRIAGE. 241 

offerings of the lover, become enforced tribute from the 
husband. She knows that as a wife, whom it is not nec- 
essary to court or flatter, she has a nobler place than 
that which is expressed by the attentions paid to a mis- 
tress. Wifehood, like all assured conditions, does not 
need to be buttressed up, but a less certain position must 
be supported from the outside, and an insecure self-res- 
pect, an uncertain holding, must be perpetually strength- 
ened and reassured. Women who cannot live happily 
without being made love to are more like mistresses than 
wives, and come but badly off in the great struggles of 
life and the cruel handling of time. Placing all their 
happiness in things which cannot continue, they let slip 
that which lies in their hands, and in their desire to re- 
tain the romantic position of lovers, lose the sweet 
security of wives. Perhaps, if they had higher aims in» 
life than these with which they make shift to satisfy 
themselves, they would not let themselves sink to the level 
of this folly, and would understand better than they do 
now the worth of realities as contrasted with appear- 
ances. And yet we cannot but pity the poor, weak, 
craving souls who long so pitifully for the freshness of 
the morning to continue far into the day and evening, 
who cling so tenaciously to the fleeting romances of 
youth. They are taken by the glitter of things — love- 
making among the rest ; and the man who is the showiest 
in his affection, who can express it with the most color, 
and paint it, so to speak, with the minutest touches, is 
the man whose love seems to them the most trustworthy 
and the most intense. They often make the mistake of 
confounding this show with the substance, of trusting to 
pictorial expression rather than to solid facts. And they 
often make the mistake of cloying their husbands with 
personal half-childish caresses, which were all very well 
in the early days, but which become tiresome as time 
goes on and the gravity of life deepens. And then, 
when the man quietly keeps them off, or more brusquely 
repels them, they are hurt and miserable, and think the 
whole happiness of their lives is dead, and all that makes 
marriage beautiful at an end. What is to be done to 

16 



242 THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 

balance things evenly in this unequal world of sex ? 
What, indeed, is to be done at any time to reconcile 
strength with weakness, and to give each its due ? One 
thing at least is sure. The more thoroughly women 
learn the true nature of men, the fewer mistakes they 
will make, and the less unhappiness they will create for 
themselves ; and the more patient men are with the hys- 
terical excitability, the restless craving, which nature, 
for some purpose at present unknown, has made the 
special temperament of women, the fewer femmes incom- 
prises there will be in married homes, and the larger the 
chance of married happiness. 



THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 

The great secret is, to learn to bear with each other's 
failings ; not to be blind to them — that is either an im- 
possibility or a folly ; we must see and feel them ; if we 
do neither, they are not evils to us, and there is obviously 
no need of forbearance ; but, to throw the mantle of 
affection round them, concealing them from each other's 
eyes ; to determine not to let them chill the affections; to 
resolve to cultivate good-tempered forbearance, because 
it is the only way of mitigating the present evil, always 
with a view to ultimate amendment. Surely, it is not 
the perfection, but the imperfection, of human character 
that makes the strongest claim in love. All the world 
must approve, even enemies must admire the good and 
the estimable in human nature. If husband and wife 
estimate only that in each which all must be constrained 
to value, what do they more than others ? It is infirmities 
of character, imperfections of nature, that call for pitying 
sympathy, the tender compassion, that makes each the 
comforter, the monitor of the other. Forbearance helps 
each to attain command over themselves. Few are the 
creatures so utterly evil as to abuse a generous confidence, 
a calm forbearance. Married persons should be pre- 
eminently friends, and fidelity is the great privilege of 



THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 243 

friendship. The forbearance here contended for is not a 
weak and wicked indulgence of each other's faults, but 
such a calm, tender observation of them as excludes all 
harshness and anger, and takes the best and gentlest 
methods of pointing them out in the full confidence of 
affection. 

The very nearest approach to domestic felicity on 
earth is in the mutual cultivation of an absolute unself- 
ishness. Never talk at one another either alone or in 
company ; never both manifest anger at once ; never 
speak loud to one another, unless the house is on fire ; 
never reflect on a past action, which was done with a good 
motive and the best judgment at the time ; let each one 
strive to yield oftenest to the wishes of the other ; let 
self-abnegation be the daily aim and effort of each ; never 
find fault, unless it is perfectly certain that a fault has 
been committed, and always speak lovingly ; never taunt j 
with a past mistake; neglect the whole world besides 
rather than one another ; never allow a request to be re- 
peated ; never make a remark at the expense of the other, 
it is a meanness ; never part for a day without loving 
words to think of during absence ; never meet without a 
loving welcome ; never let the sun go down on any anger 
or grievance ; never consider any fault you have com- 
mitted settled until you have frankly confessed it and 
asked forgiveness; never forget the happy hours of early 
love ; never sigh over what might have been, but try to 
make the best of what is ; never forget that marriage is 
ordained of G-od, and that His blessing alone can make 
it what it should ever be ; never be contented till you 
know you are both walking in the narrow way ; never let 
your hopes rest upon anything this side of the eternal 
home. Preserve the privacies of your house, your mar- 
riage state and your hearts from father, mother, sister, 
brother and all the world. Between you two let no 
third person come to share the secret joy or grief that 
belongs to yourself alone. Do you two, with God's help, 
build your own quiet world, not allowing your clearest 
earthly friend to be the confident of aught that concerns 
your domestic peace. Let moments of alienation, if they j 



244 THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 

occur, be veiled and forgotten in moments and years of 
faithful, devoted love, but never let the wall of another's 
confidence be built up between you and your wife's or 
your husband's heart. Promise this to yourselves and 
to each other. Renew the vow at every temptation ; 
you will find your account in it ; your souls will grow, 
as it were, together, and at last be as one. Ah, if many 
a young pair had on their wedding day known this all- 
important secret, how many marriages would have been 
happier than, alas, they are ! 

Be not weary in well-doing. An old story contains 
a lesson which many married couples have not yet learned. 
When Jonathan Trumbull was Governor of Connecticut, 
a gentleman called at his house one day requesting a 
private interview. He said : "I have called upon a very 
unpleasant errand, sir, and want your advice. My wife 
and I do not live happily together, and I am thinking of 
getting a divorce. What do you advise, sir?" The gov- 
ernor sat a few moments in thought ; then turning to his 

visitor, said, "How did you treat Mrs. W when you 

were courting her ? and how did you feel toward her at 

the time of your marriage ?" Squire W replied, 

"I treated her as kindly as I could, for I loved her dearly 
at that time." " Well, sir," said the governor, " go home 
and court her now just as you did then, and love her as 
when you married her. Do this in the fear of God for 
one year, and then tell me the result." When a year 
passed away Squire W called again to see the gov- 
ernor, and said: " I have called to thank you for the 
good advice you gave me, and to tell you that my wife 
and I are as happy as when first we were married. I 
cannot be grateful enough for your good counsel." " I 

am glad to hear it, Mr. W " said the governor, "and 

I hope you will continue to court your wife as long as 
you live." 

Addison has left on record the following important 
sentence : — Two persons who have chosen each other 
out of all the species, with the design to be each other's 
mutual comfort and entertainment, have in that very 
action bound themselves to be good humored, affable, 



THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 245 

joyful, forgiving and patient, with respect to each, other's 
frailties and imperfections, to the end of their lives. Mr. 
Henry says : "I have heard of a married couple who, 
though they were both of a hasty temper, yet lived com- 
fortably together by simply observing a rule on which 
they had mutually agreed, viz.: " Never to be both angry 
at the same time;" and he adds, that an ingenious and 
pious father was in the habit of giving this advice to his 
children, when they were married : 

" Doth one speak fire ? t'other with water come ! 
Is one provok'd? be t'other soft and dumb." 

The following good counsel is from a wife and mother : 
' I will try to make myself and all around me agreeable, 
ft will not do to leave a man to himself till he comes to 
you, to take no pains to attract him, to appear before him i 
with a long face. It is not so difficult as you think, dear / 
child, to behave to a husband so that he shall remain for- 
ever a husband. I am an old woman, but you can still 
do as you like ; a word from you at the right time will 
not fail of its effect ; what need have you to play the part 
of suffering virtue ? The tear of a loving girl, says an old 
book, is like a dew-drop on a rose ; but that on the cheek 
of a wifels a drop of poison to her husband. Try to ap- 
pear cheerful and contented, and your husband will be 
so ; and when you have made him happy, you will be- 
come so in reality. Nothing natters a man so much as 
the happiness of his wife; he is always proud of himself 
as being the source of it. As soon as you are cheerful 
you will be lively and alert, and allow no opportunity 
for speaking an agreeable word to pass. Your education, 
which gives you an immense advantage, will greatly 
assist you, and your sensibility will become the noblest 
gift that nature has bestowed on you, when it shows 
itself in affectionate assiduity, and stamps on every action 
a soft, kind, tender character, instead of wasting itself in 
secret repinings." 

Let both parties consider, when they enter upon the 
duties of domestic life, that the rights of each are equal; 
and let each feel that it is as much a duty to do right as 
to exact right Let each consider, that, being brought 



246 THE MARRIAGE RELATION. 

up in different families, and under different influences 5 it 
is but natural to expect that each should have opinions, 
and perhaps prejudices, different from the other ; and 
that the right of each to his, or her, opinion, is equal to 
that of the other. Let each remember, that the happi- 
ness of life depends upon harmony, — that nothing will be 
gained by strife. Hence, let each consider whether his, 
or her peculiar notions, are matters of principle, or mat- 
ters of opinion and taste. If the former, let each regard 
the other's as sacred. Do not trifle with them. If the 
latter, let each one consider the liability of every one to 
err, and try to think and feel alike. Talk over the mat- 
ter, not for the purpose of convincing, but for the pur- 
pose of understanding each other. Weigh each others 
reasons fairly, and be willing to give all reasonable credit. 
In a matter of principle, it will also be proper, if both 
agree, for each to state the subject of difference fairly, 
and give the reasons for the difference. Reflect much 
upon the points of difference with a view to the recon- 
ciliation of differences, and always be ready to yield a 
point when convinced of error. On all important sub- 
jects, as they affect the interests of both, take counsel 
together before acting. Whatever affects both should 
be understood and decided by both. Avoid having sep- 
arate interests. Whatever may be said in favor of these, 
they are certainly unnatural in domestic life, and cannot 
fail to mar domestic happiness. There can be no separate 
interests — whatever affects one must affect the other. 
Xever deceive each other. The loss of confidence is one 
of the greatest evils that can befall a married pair. It 
destroys all domestic comfort, and renders home a scene 
of turmoil and confusion. When confidence is lost, all 
is lost. In fine, let each strive to please the other, even 
inlittle things ; (the whole of life is made up of little 
things ;) and you will not fail to please. If you see a 
fault in your companion, think if you have not greater, 
and be as ready to correct your own, as to require a cor- 
rection of your companion. Let each lay aside every 
cause of offense to the other, that every thing may go on 
smoothly, that the burden of life may be easily borne. 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

I have speculated a great deal on matrimony. I have 
seen young and beautiful women, the pride of the gay 
circles, married, as the world says, well. Some have 
moved into their costly houses, and their friends have all 
come and looked at their furniture and their splendid 
home for happiness, and have gone away and committed 
them to their sunny hopes, cheerfully and without fear. 
It is natural to be sanguine for them, as the young are 
sometimes carried away with similar feelings. I love to 
get unobserved into a corner and watch the bride in her 
white attire, and with her smiling face and soft eyes 
meeting me in the pride of life, weave a waking dream 
of future happiness, and persuade myself that it will be 
true. I think how they will sit upon the luxuriant sofa 
as the twilight falls, and build gay hopes, and murmur in 
low tones the not now forbidden tenderness ; and how 
thrilling the allowed kiss and beautiful endearments of 
wedded life will make even their parting joys, and how 
gladly they will come back from the crowded and empty 
inirth of the gay to each other's quiet company. I pic- 
ture to myself that young creature, who blushes even 
now at his hesitating caress, listening eagerly for his 
footsteps as the night steals on, wishing he would come, 
and when he enters at last, with an affection as undying 
as his pulse, nestling upon his bosom. I can feel the tide 
that goes flowing through the heart, and gaze with him 
upon the graceful form as she moves about in the kind 
offices of affection, soothing all his unquiet cares, and 
making him forget even himself in her young and un- 
shadowed beauty. I go forward for years, and see her 
luxuriant hair put soberly away from her brow, and her 
girlish graces resigned into dignity and loveliness, chas- 
tened with the gentle meekness of maternal affection. 
Her husband looks on with a proud eye, and shows the 
same fervent love and delicate attentions which first won 
her, and her fair children are grown about them, and 

247 



248 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

they go on, full of honor and untroubled years, and are 
remembered when they die. 

Marriage is to a woman, at once the happiest and sad- 
dest event of her life ; it is the promise of future bliss, 
raised on the death of all present enjoyment. She quits 
her home, her parents, her companions, her occupations, 
her amusements — her everything upon which she has 
hitherto depended for comfort — for affection, for kind- 
ness, for pleasure. The parents by whose advice she has 
been guided, the sister to whom she has dared impart 
every embryo thought and feeling, the brother who has 
played with her, in turns the counselor and the counseled, 
and the younger children to whom she has hitherto been 
the mother and the playmate— all are to be forsaken in 
one instant; every former tie is loosened, the spring of 
every hope and action to be changed, and yet she flies 
with ioy into the untrodden paths before her. Buoyed 
up by the confidence of requited love, she bids a fond 
and grateful adieu to the life that is past, and turns with 
excited hopes and joyous anticipations of the happiness 
to come. Then woe to the man who can blast such 
hopes — who can, coward-like, break the allusions that 
have won her, and destroy the confidence which his love 
inspired. 

Marriage is a school and exercise of virtue ; and though 
marriage hath cares, yet single life hath desires, which 
are more troublesome and more dangerous, and often end 
in sin ; while the cares are but exercises of piety ; and 
therefore, if the single life hath more privacy of devo- 
tion, yet marriage hath more variety of it, and is an ex- 
ercise of more graces. Marriage is the proper scene of 
piety and patience, of the duty of parents and the charity 
of relations; here kindness is spread abroad, and love is 
united and made firm as a centre. Marriage is the nur- 
sery of Heaven. The virgin sends prayers to God; but 
she carries but one soul to him; but the state of her 
marriage fills up the numbers of the elect, and hath in it 
the labor of love, and the delicacies of friendship, the 
blessings of society, and the union of hearts and hands. 
It hath in it more safety than the single life ; it hath 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 249 

more care, it is more merry and more sad ; is fuller of 
sorrows and fuller of joys ; it lies under more burdens, 
but is supported by all the strength of love and charity 
which makes those burdens delightful. Marriage is the 
mother of the world, and preserves kingdoms, and fills 
cities, and churches, and heaven itself, and is that state 
of good things to which God hath designed the present 
constitution of the world. 

Voltaire said: u The more married men you have the 
fewer crimes there will be. Marriage renders a man 
more virtuous and more wise. An unmarried man is 
but half of a perfect being, and it requires the other 
half to make things right; and it cannot be 1 expected 
that in this imperfect state he can keep straight in the 
path of rectitude any more than a boat with one oar can 
keep a straight course. In nine cases out of ten, where 
married men become drunkards, or where they commit 
crimes against the peace of the community, the founda- 
tion of these acts was laid while in a single state, or 
where the wife is, as is sometimes the case, an unsuitable 
match. Marriage changes the current of a man's feel- 
ings and gives him a centre for his thoughts, his affec- 
tions and his acts." 

It is pleasant to contemplate the associations clustering 
around the wedding morn. It is the happiest hour of 
human life, and breaks upon the young heart like a gentle 
spring upon the flowers of earth. It is the hour of 
bounding, joyous expectancy, when the ardent spirit, 
arming itself with bold hope, looks with undaunted 
mien upon the dark and terrible future. It is the hour 
when thought borrows the livery of goodness, and hu- 
manity looking from its tenement, across the broad com- 
mon of life, shakes oft its heavy load of sordidness, and 
gladly swings to its shoulders the light burden of love 
and kindness. It is the heart's hour, full of blissful con- 
templation, rich promises, and the soul's happy revels. 
We cordially echo the sentiment, " Happy morn, gar- 
mented with the human virtues, it shows life to the eye, 
lovely, -as if 

" Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." 



250 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

Leigh Hunt concludes an essay on marriage as follows : 
"There is no one thing more lovely in this life, more full 
of the divinest courage, than when a young maiden, 
from her past life, from her happy childhood, when she 
rambled over every field and moor around her home ; 
when a mother anticipated her wants and soothed her 
little cares ; when brothers and sisters grew from merry 
playmates to loving, trustful friends ; from the Christmas 
gatherings and romps, the summer festivals in bower or 
garden ; from the rooms sanctified by the death of rela- 
tives ; from the holy and secure backgrounds of her 
childhood, and girlhood, and maidenhood, looks out into 
a dark and unillumined future, away from all that, and 
yet unterrified, undaunted, leans her fair cheek upon 
her lover's breast, and whispers, ' Dear heart ! I cannot 
see, but I believe. The past was beautiful, but the future 
I can trust with thee /'" 

From a lecture recently delivered by Bulwer, we ex- 
tract a few passages : "The law that binds the one man 
to the one woman," eloquently exclaimed the lecturer, 
"is indelibly written by nature, that wherever it is vio- 
lated in general system, the human race is found to deter- 
ioriate in mind and form. The ennobling influences of 
women cease ; the wife is a companion — a hundred wives 
are but a hundred slaves. Nor is this all, unless man 
looks to a woman as a treasure to be wooed and won — her 
smile the charm of his existence — her single heart the 
range of his desires — that which deserves the name of 
love cannot exist ; it is struck out of the hateful system 
of society. Now, if there be a passion in the human 
breast which most tends to lift us out of egotism and 
self — which most teaches us to love another — which pu- 
rifies and warms the whole mortal being it is love, as we 
of the North hold it and cherish it. For even when the 
fair spring of youth has passed, and when the active life 
is employed in such grave pursuits that the love of his 
early years seems to him like a dream of romance, still 
that love, having once lifted him out of egotism into 
sympathy, does but pass into new forms and develop- 
ment — it has locked his heart to charity and benevolence 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 251 

— it gives a smile to his home — it rises up in the eyes of 
his children — from his heart it circulates insensibly on to 
all the laws that protect the earth, to the native lands 
which spread around it. Thus in the history of the 
world we discover that wherever love is created, as 
it were, and sanctioned by that equality between 
the sexes which the permanent and holy union of 
one heart with another proclaims ; there, too, patriotism, 
liberty — the manly and gentle virtues — also find their 
place ; and wherever, on the contra, polygamy is prac- 
ticed and love disappears in the gross satiety of the 
senses, there we find neither respect for humanity nor 
reverence for home, nor affection for the natal soil. And 
one reason why Greece is contrasted in all that dignifies 
our nature, the effeminate and dissolute character of the 
East which it overthrew, is, that Greece was the earliest 
civilized country in which, on the borders of those great 
monarchies, marriage was the sacred tie between one 
man and one woman — and man was the thoughtful father 
of a home, not the wanton lord of a seraglio." 

Steele says, wherever woman plights her truth, under 
the sky of heaven, at the domestic hearth, or in the con- 
secrated aisles, the ground is holy, the spirit of the hour 
is sacramental. That it is thus felt even by the most 
trivial may be observed at the marriage ceremony. 
Though the mirth may be fast and furious before or after 
the irrevocable formula is spoken, yet at that point of 
time there is a shadow on the most laughing lip — a moist- 
ure in the firmest eye. Wedlock, indissoluble, except 
by an act of God — a sacrament whose solemnity reaches 
to eternity — will always hold its rank in literature, as 
the most impressive fact of human experience in dramatic 
writing, whether of the stage or closet, the play or novel. 
It must be so. If government, with all its usurpations 
and aggressions, has appropriated history, let the less 
ambitious portions of our literature be sacred to the 
affections — to the family, based upon conjugal and parent- 
al love, as that institution is the state which hitherto in 
the world's annals, has been little else than the sad ex- 
ponent of human ambition. 



252 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

Dr. Forbes Winslow, speaking of marriage says : — 
" Nothing delights me more than to enter the neat little 
tenement of the young couple, who, within perhaps two 
or three years, without any resources but their own 
knowledge or industry, have joined heart and hand, and 
engaged to share together the responsibilities, duties, 
interests, trials and pleasures of life. The industrious 
wife is cheerfully employed with her own hands in do- 
mestic duties, putting her house in order, or mending 
her husband's clothes, or preparing the dinner, whilst, 
perhaps, the little darling sits prattling on the floor, or 
lies sleeping in the cradle, and every thing seems pre- 
paring to welcome the happiest of husbands, and the 
best of fathers, when he shall come from his toil to enjoy 
the sweets of his little paradise. This is the true domestic 
pleasure. • Health, contentment, love, abundance, and 
bright prospects, are all here. But it has become a prev- 
alent sentiment, that a man must acquire his fortune 
before he marries, that the wife must have no sympathy 
nor share with him in the pursuit of it, in which most of the 
pleasure truly consists; and the young married people 
must set out with as large and expensive an establishment 
as is becoming to those who have been wedded for twenty 
years. This is very unhappy ; it fills the community 
with bachelors, who are waiting to make their fortunes, 
endangering virtue and promoting vice ; it destroys the 
true economy and design of the domestic institution, 
and inefficiency among females, who are expecting to be 
taken up by fortune and passively sustained, without any 
care or concern on their part — and thus many a wife 
becomes, as a gentleman once remarked, not a ' help- 
mate,' but a 'help-eat' " The Creator found that it was 
not good for man to be alone. Therefore he made 
woman to be a " helpmeet for him." And for many ages, 
history has shown that "The permanent union of one 
man, with one woman, establishes a relation of affections 
and interests, which can, in no other way, be made to 
exist between two human beings." To establish this re- 
lation, was one of the great designs of God in giving 
the rite to man ; and by establishing this relation, mar- 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 253 

riage becomes to him an aid in the stern conflict of life. 
This it is in a theoretical point of view. This, too, 
it has often proved in practical life. Many a man has 
risen from obscurity to fame, who, in the days of his 
triumphant victory, has freely and gratefully acknowl- 
edged, that, to the sympathy and encouragement of his 
wife, during the long and weary years of toil, he owed 
very much of his achieved success. 

The life of the great English artist, Flaxman, furnishes 
a good example. At the age of twenty-seven, he mar- 
ried. Soon after, meeting that prince of artists, Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, the latter said to him : "I am told you 
are married ; if so, sir, I tell you, you are ruined for an 
artist." Flaxman went home and told his wife. She 
bravely replied: "I will never have it said that Ann 
Dennman ruined John Flaxman for an artist !" For years 
he toiled in obscurity. She encouraged, sympathized, 
counseled. At length they went to Rome ; he to study, 
she to help. Success crowned their labors. His merit 
and greatness were acknowledged by admirers and rivals 
alike. They returned to England, whither his fame had 
preceded them. There he was elected Professor of 
Sculpture to the Royal Academy, and won a glorious 
fame. He was a patient toiler, but to his wife he was 
largely indebted for his great success. Here we have a 
practical illustration of what marriage was designed for, 
and what it ought to be and do for man. 

But in these progressive days, we have "sought out 
many inventions." In our efforts to reform the evils and 
improve upon the customs of our fathers, we have, in 
some points, at least, changed to our own injury. On 
the subject of marriage, there has been a decided change 
of views. Where is the man, now, toiling in obscurity, 
in hope of a future fame, who would marry for the sake 
of encouragement and sympathy in his arduous work? 
Where is the man just starting in life, who would (unless, 
indeed, his intended had a fortune) think of marriage 
as lying in the way to success in business ? " If such a 
man exists, he will be fouud far away from our great 
cities, and will neither marry a fashionable wife, nor make 



254 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

what the world terms u a good match." A simple inci- 
dent will illustrate the tendencies of the times and the 
state of public opinion on this subject. A few weeks 
since, I entered the store of a man, with whom I wished 
to transact some business. He was in conversation with 
a middle aged lady, who said to him as I approached ■ 
u You ought to have a wife." His firm, decided reply, 
seemed to be the language of honest conviction; and 
there was something of sadness in his tones, as he said: 
"I calculate it will take me ten years to make money 
enough to support a wife." After transacting my busi- 
ness, I went away, thinking of the ten long, weary years 
of toil which stood between that man and a happy home. 
And I have often thought of him since. Nearly thirty, 
he has already reached an age, when, if ever, he is quali- 
fied for marriage ; when, if ever, he needs sympathy and 
encouragement. But he is only one among a multitude. 
Our papers tell us, that in a single New England city, 
there are nearly thirty thousand young men, already en- 
gaged, who are putting off marriage until they can make 
enough to support their wives. So it is throughout the 
country. Young men need the restraining and elevating 
influences of home. They know it and feel it, but they 
have no money, and, therefore, can not marry. 

As we look on these facts, we are forced to exclaim : 
what an utter misconception of the ends to be attained ; 
what a degradation of womanhood; what a folly of man, 
is this modern idea of marriage ! The man must com- 
mence business alone, fight his own battles without sym- 
pathy or consolation, win, if possible, by years of ardu- 
ous toil, a competence — and when the conflict is over, 
the toil is past and the victory is won, then he can have 
a wife and a home. If unsuccessful in business, he can 
not marry. 

The young lady who has been educated at boarding 
schools, and spent the rest of her life in parlors and 
drawing-rooms, is not qualified to cheer and encourage 
a man in the stern battles of life. Such a young lady 
could be but little help in business, and would be a great 
expense. Men know this, and they know that they can 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 255 

not afford to marry until their fortunes are made. This 
is a stern and unpleasant truth, nevertheless. It is a 
truth which is not flattering to man, and it is a shame 
to the womanhood of the nineteenth century. The 
trouble lies, as I firmly believe, in our system of Female 
Education. 

Now, if matrimony is to become more and more diffi- 
cult, who will suffer more by such a state of things ? It 
must be woman. For, try to make her into a man, as 
some may, it is impossible ; she is his equal, but she is 
not a man. The grape vine and the oak are equal, but 
not the same. Whoever builds his ship with the grape 
vine will come to grief: whoever makes wine with the 
acorn will have a bitter mouth. Woman needs the 
strength and courage of man, and he needs her cheerful- 
ness, her sympathy, her consolation. If man does not 
marry her, he will use her and trample upon her; he 
does it now in Paris, in London, and in New York. She 
will be his mistress, if she is not his wife. And then, 
when she is sick, or ill-tempered, or stupid, he will throw 
her away. If she is his wife, the mother of his children, 
the partner of his successes and the consoler of his fail- 
ures, then, and only as such, will he cherish, defend and 
sustain her. Time was when woman was described as 
the helpmeet of man. Was it only a phrase, and mean- 
ingless ? Possibly ; but then, words in the Bible mostly 
did mean something. The time, too, was, and yet is in 
some quarters of the world, when a woman was a help- 
meet, and accepted and worked up to her position as 
such. She did not demand everything and do nothing. 
Why is marriage easy and universal in such a country as 
Japan? Life there is simple; two or three small rooms, 
a few dishes, a mat upon which to sleep, one dress, a 
little rice and some fruit — these suffice for all, rich and 
poor alike, in a great city like Yeddo, which has a civi- 
lization as perfect and as old as ours. And it is not a 
life of stupidity or barbarism ; all can read and write ; 
manners are good; books and pictures are plenty; 
theaters abound; processions and festival days enliven 
life. It is easy to see, therefore, why marriage is not a 



256 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

fearful thing in that far-off land, and, by contrast, it is 
easy to understand why few have the courage to dare 
it here. 

The first question to be asked by any sane man is, can 
I properly support a wife if I take one ? Then he counts 
the cost of living as the woman of his preference would 
wish, and lo ! he finds, to his amazement, that his income 
is vastly too small to support even a modest modern 
establishment ; and somewhat saddened by the reflec- 
tion, he plunges into labor, and courts business with an 
assiduity that takes away his health eventually, in hope 
of attaining an income that shall enable him to marry 
and have a home of his own. And this is the secret of 
all the hard, unending toil of all the young men ot to-day 
who are fast approaching thirty years of age — this is the 
reason of so many disappointed men and waiting women, 
deny it or hide it as you may. "But, says some good 
woman, you do us injustice ; for any woman who truly 
loves a man will adapt herself to his circumstances with 
the greatest pleasure. But what man of any sensitive- 
ness, or high sense of honor, would take a woman from 
easy circumstances, and a pleasant and well furnished 
home, to adorn his little four rooms and do his house 
work, as the first principles of economy would demand 
of him? Few will do it; for though the woman signifies 
her willingness to take up with such experience, we are 
all such creatures of circumstance that there would be 
complainings on her part, eventually, and sickness of 
over-exertion, and unhappiness from many cares — all of 
which would render marriage anything else than pleas- 
ant. And so the young men very wisely think — prefer- 
ring a few years more of single loneliness, in order to 
obtain money enough to support a modest house of be- 
tween twelve or fifteen hundred dollars a year expense, 
rather than to place a modernly educated woman into 
the house of six hundred dollars a year, where she. must 
do her own work. "Now, what is the remedy ? Plainly, 
that women must fit themselves to be such wives as the 
young men must have. Else the young men must fit 
themselves to be such husbands as the women want, and 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 257 

spend the very choicest years of their life in the dismal 
drudgery of a ceaseless toil, breaking down health, hap- 
piness, energy, only to give themselves up to marriage 
when the best of their manhood is gone. The women 
must choose for themselves which it shall be, for the 
matter is solely in their hands. Let mothers say to their 
daughters, put on that calico gown, go into the kitchen 
and prepare dinner, take charge of this household, and 
fit yourself to become a wife and a mother — let the 
young woman cheerfully consent to such service ; and, 
instead of lavishing all thought, and time, and money, 
upon the adornment of the body, seek to accustom the 
hand to proper industry, and to school the mind to pro- 
per tastes — then there will be no longer complaint that 
young men cannot afford to marry, and we shall have 
beautiful, modest houses all around us, and women will 
have loving husbands, and life shall once more have 
something of the truthfulness and virtue which it had 
in the days of our blessed fathers and mothers, when it 
was woman's ambition to become the head of the house, 
and the mother of noble children." 

But while young men say they cannot marry because 
the girls of this generation are too extravagant, the fault 
by no means is altogether with the girls. In the first 
place, young men as a general thing, admire the elegant 
costumes in which many ladies appear, and do not hesi- 
tate to express their admiration to those who are more 
plainly dressed. And what is the natural effect of this? 
In the second place many young men are too proud 
themselves to commence their married life in a quiet, 
economical way. They are not willing to marry until 
they have money enough to continue all their own pri- 
vate luxuries, and also support a wife in style. The 
difficulty is not altogether on either side ; but if both 
men and women would be true to the best feelings of 
their hearts, and careless about what the world would 
say, pure and happy and noble homes would be more 
abundant. 

Statistics, moralities and sentiments have all been 
brought forward in discussing the question as to the 
17 



258 INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE. 

comparative health, happiness and duration of life of the 
married and unmarried. The verdict must be con- 
sidered as given in favor of the married. 

In Edinburg, a short time ago, Dr. Stark, read a paper 
on the influence of marriage on the death-rate of men 
and women in Scotland : Dr. Stark based his calculations 
on the statistics issued by the register-general, and 
brought out results which, to a great measure, he be- 
lieved, were now presented for the first time. He first 
showed the results in the case of men. He found that 
between twenty and twenty-five years of age the death- 
rate of bachelors was exactly double that of the married 
men. From twenty years of age to the close of life the 
mean age attained by married men was fifty-nine and a 
half years, while that of bachelors was only forty years, 
in other words, married men had the chance of living 
nineteen and a half years longer than those who were 
unmarried. From twenty-five years of age to the close 
of life the mean age of married men was only forty-seven 
and seven-tenths. Yery nearly one-half of all the bach- 
elors who died had not attained thirty years of age. The 
results, Dr. Stark thought, clearly proved that the mar- 
ried state was the condition of life best fitted for man- 
kind, and that a prolongation of life by that state was a 
special provision of nature. It was based on fixed laws 
of life. Married men were generally more regular in 
their habits, better housed, better cared for, and more 
under the condition of health and long life. In the case 
of women also, the results were in favor of the married 
as compared with the unmarried, though the difference 
was not so marked as in the case of the men. Married 
women died at a greater proportion during the quin- 
quennial periods— from fifteen to twenty, and twenty- 
five to thirty, but at a lower rate from thirty to forty. 
The death-rate in the case of married Avomen, was higher 
between forty and forty-five years of age, but the rate 
was in their favor again from the latter period to old age. 



YOUNG WOMEN AND MARRIAGE. 

Children should not marry. A young woman cannot 
be considered in any sense prepared for this union under 
twenty-one ; twenty-five is better. She is not mentally 
cr physically developed before this. Solemn duties, cares 
and responsibilities await her, to which she needs large 
physical development, mature judgment, good calcula- 
tion, domestic training, and a knowledge of men and 
things. Girls of sixteen and eighteen cannot have these. 
They cannot tell what they really like or dislike — who 
and what will meet their necessity — until they are ma- 
tured themselves. 

You cannot over-estimate the importance of a thorough 
knowledge of the man you desire to marry. Uprightness, 
fixedness of principle, an unselfish and generous disposi- 
tion and good business abilities should be regarded as 
indispensable. If a young man is a good son and brother, 
he will make a good husband, provided you do your 
part. Do not be won by trifles. A handsome face, fine 
figure and noble bearing may be desired, but they con- 
stitute a small part of what you really need. They may 
be but the gilt which hides some terrible deformity, and 
which by and by will cause you emotions of disgust, ter- 
rible grief or constant unrest. It is not wise to aspire far 
above your present station in life, as this would give rise 
to solicitude lest you should fail to adapt yourself to your 
changed circumstances. Marriage should not be entered 
upon without a thorough knowledge of its physiological 
laws, else much domestic misery may be expected. Neither 
should it be sought for worldly gain or passion. True 
esteem and affection, united to adaptation and congeni- 
ality of taste, should form its basis. When this does not 
exist before marriage, it is hopeless to expect it after- 
wards. You must look out for breakers ahead, and feed 
the flames of love with pure oil. You will need fully as 
much tact, skill and patience to manage another heart as 
your own. If you cannot think alike, be resolved to 

259 



260 YOUNG WOMEN AND MARRIAGE. 

yield rather than differ. Avoid altercation and recrimi- 
nation. Be forbearing and forgiving if need be. I would 
also suggest that those graces and charms which won a 
lover's heart be still kept for the husband. Never con- 
sider it too much trouble to dress tastefully and in your 
best for your husband's eye. Give him freely of those 
graceful attentions and pleasant surprises which will 
make him happy, if you expect a continuance of love- 
like attentions from him. Hide all the disagreeables in 
person, toilet and home, and keep the best for love. 

Do not, as you value life and its comforts, marry a man 
who is naturally cruel. If he will wantonly torture a 
poor dumb dog, a cat, or even a snake, fly from him as 
you would from the cholera. We would sooner see our 
daughter dying of cholera, than married to a cruel hearted 
man. If his nature delights in torture, he will not spare 
his wife, or his helpless children. When we see a man 
practicing cruelty on any poor, helpless creature, or beat- 
ing a fractious horse unmercifully, we write over against 
his name — devil, and shun him accordingly. 

We once knew a man, aye, a gentleman, who, during 
a ride for pleasure, became so demoniacally enraged at 
his horse, which refused to go, that he sprang from his 
carriage, drew his knife, and cut out an eye of the poor 
brute. The lady who accompanied him fainted, suffered 
a long nervous illness, and will never recover from the 
horror the outrage gave. And we knew the young lady 
who, knowing this of him, was foolhearted enough to 
become his wife. And we know how he tortured her. 
How he outraged all her feelings ; how he delighted to 
destroy whatever she prized, or took pleasure in. How 
in his fits of passion he broke up her furniture, seized her 
by the shoulder and shook her till she could not crawl 
to bed ; how he beat her ; how he kept her poor babe 
black and blue with blows and pinches, until her parents 
took her home, and sheltered her from his cruelty. 

II you have a suitor whom you feel inclined to favor, 
look narrowly into the temper and disposition of the man. 
Love may soften it for awhile, or it may induce him to 
restrain, or disguise it, but, be assured, the natural tern- 



YOUNG WOMEN AND MARRIAGE. 261 

per will remain, and the time will come when your pre- 
sence will be no restraint upon him. We have heard 
wives complain, " I was so deceived in my husband; men 
are so deceitful," &c. But we believe in nine cases out 
of ten, these women deceived themselves. They suffered 
the romance of their own foolish hearts to adorn their 
lover with all the excellencies which their fancy attributed 
to a perfect manly character, and to draw a veil over all 
his vices and defects, which if it did not conceal them, 
greatly softened or disguised their features. Men are 
not perfect — women are not perfect. In all cases, there 
must exist a necessity to bear and forbear, but it does 
not therefore follow that you should marry a bad man. 
If you do so, you deserve chastisement ; but a life-long 
misery is a terrible punishment. A bad man's wife must 
either live in a continual torment of fear, apprehension, 
and the bitter disappointment of her fruitless efforts to 
please ; or she must become callous, cold, insensible to 
pain, and consequently to pleasure. Will you take upon 
yourselves either of those bitter alternatives ? We hope 
not. 

How many young women, by uniting their destinies 
with tipplers, or men of confirmed intemperate habits, 
have involved themselves in lives of sorrow and often 
shame ! " Yet in spite of all the wretchedness of drunk- 
ards' wives," says Mr. Cuyler, " young women are con- 
tinually willing to marry men who are in the habit of 
indulging in the social glass ! Ladies often refuse the 
marriage offers of young men because they are too poor, 
or of too humble a family, or too plain in person or 
manners. But only now and then one has good sense 
enough to refuse to unite herself with a man who will 
not pledge himself to total abstinence. A rich and 
fashionable young man has commonly no trouble to get 
a wife, even though he is hardly sober long enough to 
pronounce the marriage vow. But a teetotaler in coarse 
raiment might be snubbed as a vulgar fellow who has 
never seen society. Ladies! before you begin to scold 
at me for this impious thing, just look around and see if 
this is not true." This is an important subject, and you 



262 YOUNG WOMEN AND MARRIAGE. 

should consider it well. It involves your happiness and 
respectability in this world, and perhaps your salvation 
in the next, You should reject the hand of any man 
who indulges in the intoxicating cup. What is riches, 
station, or anything worth without sobriety, virtue and 
character ? Beware. 

Don't marry a man whom you are sure of not loving, 
no matter how long you have been engaged to him. 

We celebrate the wedding, and make merry over the 
honeymoon. The poet paints the beauties and blushes 
of the blooming bride ; and the bark of matrimony, with 
its freight of untested love, is launched on the uncertain 
ocean of experiment, amid kind wishes and rejoicings. 
But on that precarious sea are many storms, and even 
the calm has its perils; and only when the bark has 
weathered these, and landed its cargo in the haven of 
domestic peace, can we pronounce the voyage prosper- 
ous, and congratulate the adventurer on his merited and 
enviable reward. 

In a great majority of cases, the elopement of a young 
lady is unwise, giddy, ungrateful, immodest, and evinces 
a lascivious appetite and reckless disposition. Why 
should she desert and distress those who have loved, 
nurtured and cherished her through all her past years, 
to throw herself into the arms of a comparative stranger, 
who has done nothing for her, and whose protestations 
of affection have yet to undergo the first trial ? It is 
every way unworthy of pure and gentle maidenhood. 
We can imagine but one excuse for her elopement — 
namely , the efforts of parents or guardians to coerce her 
into marrying some one she does not love. To avoid such 
a fate, she is justified in running away ; for no parent has 
or ever had a right to constrain a daughter to marriage 
against her will. But where the parents are willing to 
wait, the daughter should also consent to wait, until her 
choice is assented to or she attains her legal majority. 
Then, if she chooses to marry in opposition to her par- 
ents' wishes, let her quit their home openly, frankly, in 
broad daylight, and in such a manner as shall kindly but 
utterly preclude any pretence that her act is clandestine 



YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 263 

or ill-considered. No one should be persuaded or coerced 
to marry where she does not love ; but to wait a year or 
two for the assent of those who have all her life done 
what they could for her welfare, no daughter should 
esteem a hardship. There is some truth to be told about 
the " common run " of masculine prowlers by night about 
garden walls and under bed-room windows, in quest of 
opportunities to pour seducing flatteries into the ears of 
simple misses; but we have not time to tell it now. As 
a general rule, they are licentious, good-for-nothing ad- 
venturers, who would much rather marry a living than 
work for it, and who speculate on the chances of " bring- 
ing the old folks round" after a year or two. A true 
man would not advise, much less urge, the woman he 
loved to take a step which must inevitably lessen the 
respect felt for her, and violate the trust reposed in her 
by those who had loved and cherished her all her days. 



YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 

It has long been a theory of ours that a woman is 
always at the bottom of everything very good, or very 
bad, which is done in the world. If you find a man 
achieving greatness, you have only to go back to his 
cradle, and in the lines of the mother's face that watches 
there, you will see the lines of energy, determination, 
will — latent properties they may be, if her life is a calm 
one — but the properties which made his fortune are 
transmitted to her child with her blood, and thus nour- 
ished with the first blood drawn from her bosom. If a 
man robs and murders, nine times out of ten he does it 
to please, or obtain the means to gratify a woman. If 
he toils honestly, and accumulates wealth by self-denial, 
it is to pour it into her lap. In short, woman makes or 
mars our life. The effect she has exercised over all those 
whom, in the quaint language of an old writer, "un- 
happy love of poesie and letters had led astray," is 
shown in a late number of Leigh Hunt's Journal. 

Dry den married unhappily, and how much of the ven- 
omous sting of his satire, how much of his unpoetic, 



264 YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 

coarse depreciation of woman, has its origin therein. 
Addison did by no means equal the bacheior Spectator. 
Pope refrained from matrimony, (his physique, indeed, 
was not calculated to win hearts') and may we not im- 
agine that the " divine little artist might have produced 
something beyond the sphere of mere art, had successful 
love and domestic comfort warmed his heart, and so 
ripened the Rape of the Lock into a higher creation of 
the Dunciadf Swift also avoided marriage — wherefore, 
no man shall know ; — with his heart vibrating between 
a Stella and a Vanesse, and descended, a very question- 
able moral man, through a morbid old age, to a cheerless 
tomb ; leaving his character as an inexplicable enigma 
to all times. Nay, in our days have we not seen Lord 
Byron struggling in his fiery course, without repose, 
without definite purpose, through a maze of contradiction, 
wrath and profligacy, to an awful Nowhither ? — a man 
who married most unhappily, whose heart was cauterized 
by the loss of the only woman he, perhaps, ever truly 
loved. His writings, his actions tell us that in his deep- 
est abandonment to vice, the ghost of his first and purest 
love rose ever and anon before him to frown a clear re- 
proof upon his wayward career. But even the loss of 
Mary Chaworth might have been nullified, had his mar- 
riage ended well. It did not ; the unwise marriage magni- 
fied and prolonged the unwise life, and prepared the 
early death. These incidents are striking, because the 
actors in them had the world for a stage, and all men's 
eyes to watch them ; but the truth is quite as great, 
applied to meaner men. It is the wife that makes the 
home, and home makes the man. Whenever we see a 
man walking among men blameless, we take it for granted 
that the angel who keeps his feet is the angel of home, 
a blameless wife. 

Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no plea- 
sures ; marriage should be considered as the most solemn 
league of perpetual friendship. 

Marriage is the best state for a man in general ; and 
every man is a worse man in proportion as he is unfit 
for the marriage state. 



YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 265 

When youth weds youth for love, it is beautiful; when 
youth weds age for money, it is monstrous, and only 
hate, misery and criminality can come from it. Of those 
u thrice sodden fools" who marry their grandfathers and 
grandmothers, old Thomas Fuller says with equal truth 
and wit — " They that marry ancient people merely in ex- 
pectation to bury them, hang themselves, in hopes some 
one may come and cut the halter." 

Who marries for love takes a wife ; who marries for 
the sake of convenience takes a mistress ; who marries 
for consideration takes a lady. You are loved by your 
wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated by your lady. 
You have a wife for yourself, a mistress for your house 
and its friends, and a lady for the world. Your wife will 
agree with you, your mistress will accommodate you, and 
your lady will manage you. Your wife will take care of 
your household, your mistress of your house, your lady 
of appearance. If you are sick, your wife will nurse 
you, your mistress will visit you, and your lady will en- 
quire after your health. You take a walk with your wife, 
a ride with your mistress, and join partners with your 
lady. Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your 
money, and your lady your debts. If you are dead, 
your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and your 
lady wear mourning. A year after death marries again 
your wife, in six months your mistress, and in six weeks 
or sooner, when mourning is over, your lady. 

Men and women before marriage are as figures and 
cyphers. The woman is the cypher, and counts for noth- 
ing till she gets the figure of a husband beside her, when 
she becomes of importance herself, and adds tenfold to 
the sum of his. But this, it must be observed, occurs 
only when she gets and remains on the right side of him, 
for when she shifts from this position, he returns to his 
lesser estate, and she to her original insignificance. 

Marriage offers the most effective opportunities for 
spoiling the life of another. Nobody can debase, harass 
and ruin a woman so fatally as her own husband, and 
nobody can do a tithe so much to chill a man's aspira- 
tions, to paralyze his energies, as his wife. A man is 



266 YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 

never irretrievably ruined in his prospects until kt mar- 
ries a bad woman. The Bible tells us that as the climb- 
ing a sandy way is to the feet of the aged, so is a wife 
full of words to a quiet man. A cheerful wife is a rain- 
bow in the sky when her husband's mind is tossed on the 
storms of anxiety and care. A good wife is the greatest 
earthly blessing. A man is what his wife makes him. It 
is the mother who moulds the character and destiny of 
the child. Make marriage a matter of moral judgment. 
Marry in your own religion. Marry into a different blood 
and temperament from your own. Marry into a family 
which you have long known. 

Husbands and wives of different religious persuasions 
do not generally live happily. When the spiritual influ- 
ences are antagonistic, the conjugal union is not com- 
plete, for it lacks the unity essential to the fulfilment of 
serious obligations, and there is an entire absence of that 
sound and reciprocated confidence — that mutual faith, 
which, although their roots be in the earth, have their 
branches in- the sky of affection. After a time this spir- 
itual dissension is apt to break out into hostilities. Dis- 
cussion begins the battle, then persuasion enters the field, 
and unless one or the other yield, there is silent aliena- 
tion slumbering under the marble surface of apparent 
affection, and too frequently open and angry opposition, 
which at once tears away the mask from a marriage 
which commenced in doubt and dread, silently glided 
into delicate hypocrisy, and ended in a strange and ter- 
rible revulsion. We have not much faith in conversions, 
for the memory of early associations, and carefully 
taught predilections of home, parents r and friends, rarely 
dies; if it does not fall into a trance, when it awakes it 
fondly grasps at the body and form of the past, and all 
that affected the soul in the interim fades away as if it 
had not been. And there is the solemn question of off- 
spring to be considered. The rule is that the boys 
should be educated in the faith of the father, the girls in 
that of the mother. Here is another element of discord 
introduced into the family, circle it cannot be, there being 
no continuity of any kind. And what an awful spectacle 



MARRIAGE OF FIRST COUSINS. 267 

is presented to us ! Brothers spurning the creed of sis- 
ters, and sisters lamenting over that of brothers. The 
after hatred thus engendered staggers the imagination, 
and shows us what a terrible thing is the human mind 
when weakened and distracted by opposite opinions, and 
that rigidity of belief which only a dissolution of the 
poor mortal frame can melt. But the subject is painful, 
and however we may wound the susceptibilities of ap- 
parently fond lovers — we say apparently advisedly, for 
there can be no real love where there is " no silver chord 
to bind it" — we unhesitatingly express the opinion that 
marriages between persons who do not tread in the same 
religious path, are wholly unadvisable — nay, wrong — 
for they tend to invite a future teeming with shadows, 
clouds and darkness. 

He who marries a beauty only, is like a buyer of 
cheap furniture — the varnish that caught the eye will 
not endure the fireside blaze. - 

Of all the actions of a man's life, his marriage does 
least concern other people, yet of all actions of our life, 
'tis most meddled with by other people. 

If you observe a gentleman with his arm around the 
waist of a young lady, it is morally certain that they 
are not married. 



MARRIAGE OF FIRST COUSINS. 

The evil consequences of the marriage of blood rela- 
tions, have become so formidahle that they have finally 
commanded the attention of Chief Executive Officers, 
and Legislatures of several States — usually the very last 
parties to whose consideration such important facts are 
presented. In the State of Virginia, the consequences 
of family intermarriages have become appalling. In 
Kentucky, similar disastrous effects have been realized. 
Governor Magoffin in his message, dwells upon the sub- 
ject in language which fairly portrays the extent and 
magnitude of the evils growing out of legalized incest, 
and earnestly recommends the passage of a law utterly 
prohibiting the marriage of first cousins. He says there 



268 AT WHAT AGE TO MARRIAGE. 

are over 800 idiots and feeble-minded children in Ken- 
tucky, and the number is steadily increasing. He attri- 
butes the evil chiefly to the cause above assigned, and 
while recommending the establishment of a School of 
Imbeciles, he exhorts the Legislature to pass an act for 
the "prevention of marriage between first cousins/' and 
proceeds to remark : " By a single act of the Legislature 
you save in the future an immense amount of suffering. 
You can diminish, according to the opinion of those who 
have fully investigated this subject, twenty per cent, of 
the number of imbeciles, insane deaf mutes, and blind 
children. Render the marriage of cousins illegal, and a 
great evil is at once eradicated. At least from fifteen to 
twenty per cent, of all these sufferers, are the offspring 
of cousins. A gentleman of science, of learning, and 
enlarged experience, who has for a long time paid a great 
deal of attention to this subject, recently informed me 
he never yet had seen all the children so related sound 
in body and mind. There is always among some of them 
some defect, mentally or bodily. A large number of the 
pupils (so say the teachers) in the Deaf and Dumb Asy- 
lums are the children of cousins. At Danville there are 
four sisters, deaf and dumb, the children of cousins ; they 
have two speaking brothers, both in delicate health. 
There is also, from another family, there, a sister and 
brother, children of cousins. There is another instance 
of sister and brother, there, also deaf and dumb, the 
children of second cousins, showing that the defect ex- 
tends beyond even the second degree. In the institu- 
tion at Danville as in other States, I am informed from 
sixteen to twenty per cent, of the pupils are now, and 
always have been, the children of cousins." 



AT WHAT AGE TO MARRY. 

The institution of marriage is one of the wisest in the 
arrangement of Providence. In no one of the judicial 
laws, for the perpetuity and happiness of the race, has 
the Deity exhibited greater wisdom, than in that of in- 
stituting marriage between the sexes. The division of 



AT WHAT AGE TO MARRY. 269 

the race into families, where equal and joint interests 
obtain, where each necessarily cares tor and feels for the 
other, is marked by divine wisdom, and is a source of the 
highest human happiness and felicity. Marriage is hon- 
orable. It is desirable. We are so constituted that we 
naturally engage in it. We have affections. They must 
have an altar at which to bow — a shrine at which to wor- 
ship ; and what altar or shrine more pure and holy than 
those of plighted love ? The desire to marry is innate. 
The Poet has it thus : 

" The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling, 
Let it go where it will, cannot flourish alone ; 
But will lean to the nearest and lovliest thing, 
It can twine to itself, and make closely its own." 

It has been ascertained by an analysis of 24,000 mar- 
riages in Massachusetts, that an unmarried female at the 
age of twenty has lost one-fourth of her chances of ever 
becoming united in wedlock; at twenty-five, three-fourths, 
and at thirty, nine-tenths. Still this is no good reason 
why hasty and improper connections should he formed. 
A female at twenty-five is far more likely to marry well, 
than at an earlier period. Her judgment is more mature; 
she will be governed less by fancy, and more by common 
sense, and instead of taking to a dashing young coxcomb, 
or pert dandy, will prefer a man of more years than her- 
self, who has become established in business — has experi- 
ence — has character and prospects of success in navigating 
the sea of life. Solid acquirements, and amiability of 
heart and disposition, should weigh far more in the mind 
of the female, when about to give her hand in marriage, 
than mere show of person and polish of address. I care 
not if there be considerable disparity of ages, provided 
other things are equal. I would much rather a daughter 
of mine would marry a person twenty years older than 
herself, if he posseses character, influence, goodness, and 
means of support, united with warm attachment, than to 
start off in life with some dashing young beau, with more 
show than brains, and far less affection than romantic 
love. True and solid virtues are the only foundation for 
abiding affection ; where these exist, they form, a basis 
as enduring as iron, and as lasting as granite. There is 



270 AT WHAT AGE TO MARRY. 

no higher or more tranquil bliss, than that experienced 
when heart communes with heart — when two souls unite 
and form one, like mingling dew-drops on the rose, that 
scarcely touch the flower, but mirror the heavens in their 
little orbs. When perfect love transforms two souls each 
to the other's image — when one heart beats in two bos- 
oms — one spirit speaks with a divided tongue — when the 
same soul is eloquent in mutual eyes — there is a rapture, 
deep, serene, heart-felt and abiding, in that mysterious 
sympathy between congenial souls, which puts to shame 
the extatic but short-lived bliss of romance. But to the 
hearts united by virtue's affections, there comes that glad 
reliance, that sense of trust, that rest of spirit, that ex- 
ceeding peace, which words cannot portray, which to 
know is to feel. 

A superiority of years in the husband strikes us as most 
befitting. His position as head of the family — his charge 
and oversight of all its interests — the stern necessity that 
he shall have lived long enough in the world to have prof- 
ited by experience — all conspire to teach this doctrine — to 
maintain this sentiment. He is the oak and she the vine, 
and it is of importance that the former be well grounded 
in experience, and have sufficient age and strength to allow 
the latter to wind around and lean for support on its manly 
trunk ; and what matters, if it has lived to share in some rude 
storms, and lost some of its pristine beauty; its true value 
is none the less, but on the other hand, somewhat enhanced. 

" What is the blooming tincture of the skin, 
To peace of mind ancf harmony within ? 
What the bright sparkling of the finest eye, 
To the soft soothing of a calm reply ? 
Can comliness of form, or shape, or air, 
With comliness oi words, or deeds compare ? 
No ! those at first the unwary heart may gain, 
But these, these only, can the heart retain." % 

When the mother takes no pains, the marriage of the 
daughter, even if not in itself ineligible, is likely to be 
deferred. For the age at which . marriage is to be con- 
tracted, is a very material consideration. Aristotle was 
of the opinion that the bridegroom should be thirty-seven 
years of age, and the bride eighteen, alleging physical 
relation which I venture to think exceedingly inconclu- 



AT WHAT AGE TO MARRY. 271 

sive. Eighteen for the bride is the least to be objected 
to, and would yet be rather earlier in this climate. A girl 
of that age may not be absolutely unprepared for mar- 
riage ; but she has hardly had time for that longing and 
yearning affection which is to be her best security after- 
wards. The woman should marry rather before than after 
that culminating period of personal charms which, vary- 
ing much in different individuals, is but a short period 
in any, and occurs in early youth in almost all. She 
should marry between twenty and thirty years of age, 
but nearer the former than the latter period. Now the 
man at such an age would probably be too light for the 
man's part in such a marriage ; and the more so when 
marrying a wife equally young. For it is very well 
known that when two people join together in matrimony, 
it is as if one sweet pea should be put up as a prop to 
another. The man, therefore, may be considered the 
most marriageable when he is a little beyond thirty. In 
the case of a serious and thoughtful man, it need not be 
deferred so long, for in such a case, a remark made in a 
letter of Lord Bacon's will probably be verified — that a 
man finds himself several years older after his marriage. 
Dr. James Johnson, in his " Economy of Health," says, 
"The most proper age for entering the holy bonds of 
matrimony has been discussed but never settled. I am 
entitled to my opinion ; and although I can not here give 
the ground on which it rests, the reader may take it for 
granted, that I could adduce, were this the proper place, 
a great number of reasons, both moral and physical, for 
the dogma I am about to propound. The maxim, then, 
which I would inculcate, is this — that matrimony should 
not be contracted before the first year of the fourth Sep- 
tennial, on the part of the females, nor before the last 
year of the same in the case of the male ; in other words, 
the female should be at least 21, and the male 28 years 
old. That there should be seven years difference between 
the ages of the sexes, at whatever period of life the solemn 
contract is entered upon, need not be urged, as it is uni- 
versally admitted there is a difference of seven years, 
not in the actual duration of life in the two sexes, but in 



272 

the stamina of the constitution — the symmetry of the 
form, and the lineaments of the face. 

Some who are in doubt upon the question may per- 
haps be guided by precedence. For their information 
we will state that Adam married at a very early age in- 
deed, — so early it may be set down at 0. Shakspeare 
was 18 when he perpetrated the poetic feat; Ben John- 
son, 21 ; Franklin, 24; Dante, Kelper, Fuller, Johnson, 
Burke, Scott, 26; Tycho, Brahe, Byron, Washington and 
Bonaparte, 27; Penn and Sterling, 28; Linnse and Nel- 
son, 29; Burns, 30; Chaucer, Hogarth and Peel, 32; 
Woodworth and Davy, 33 ; Sir William Jones and Wel- 
lington, 37; Wilberforce, 38; Luther, 42; Addison, 44; 
Wesley and Young, 47; Swift, 49; Buffon, 55; old Parr, 
last time, 120. The last was so much above par that 
'twas no wonder he found a ready taker. 



LOYE, MARRIAGE AND DIYORCE. 

That love is the leading element of the highest happi- 
ness in marriage ; that love, while it lasts, covers a mul- 
titude of errors, privations, misfortunes — even sins — I do 
not doubt. But the question is, how far is love, when 
unaccompanied by any other of the conditions which I 
have mentioned as belonging to a perfect marriage, itself 
a justification of marriage? True love woiks wonders; 
but it cannot prevent the physical and mental ailments 
which develop themselves in people of feeble organisms. 
It cannot supply a lack of intelligence, a want of force 
in either husband or wife ; and, as all housekeepers know, 
it cannot "make the pot boil." Love alone, when we 
consider its proverbial instability, and the small chance 
it has of surviving under bleak conditions, is certainly an 
insufficient capital upon which to commence the partner- 
ship of marriage. This is true of even the highest and 
strongest loved; how much more so of the hasty and 
passionate attachments which lead to so many thousands 
of marriages! There is an infinity of false sentiment 
about the passion of love. While I would not cast a 
doubt upon the existence of noble love, of devotion, 



LOVE, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 273 



and of passion which no sorrow or trial can tire, which 
is even refined and strengthened by suffering, yet the 
value, the office, the very nature of love in our ordinary 
life is greatly misunderstood. Love is the most exag- 
gerated passion in literature. It holds in our imagina- 
tion a position which it does not hold in the life of one 
man or woman in a thousand. " Being the supreme pas- 
sion of modern art, 1 ' says a recent writer, "it becomes 
necessary to sound high its praises. We should suppose,, 
if we read only novels and poetry, that the one thing in- 
teresting in life is the relation of the sexes and the anx- 
ieties of pairing. Many young people are so dizzy with 
love that they are unable to go on with the other inter- 
ests of life. They cannot see men as they are, engaged 
in their daily work, pursuing their various ends and living 
a multifarious life, of which love is but a single element." 
Our regard for the passion oversteps the healthy limit, 
and becomes morbid; we judge of it untruly; we attend 
to its promptings with absurd expectations ; we teach 
ourselves that the passion is uncontrollable, and regard 
it as a kind of fate ; and we glorify the supremacy of a 
first love, as if the heart did not require a training as 
varied as the intellect. Considering the widespread 
misery which our misconceptions of love have wrought, 
we might doubt whether this passion was not the greatest 
misfortune as well as the greatest blessing in the world. 
We may conclude, in spite of Chaucer, that Love's alle- 
gience is not the only thing needful to make a perma- 
nently happy marriage. 

There are all sorts of weddings and marriages; it 
would take many pages to register them, from the mar- 
riage of true minds to that of a couple of money-bags. 
Sometimes the bride and bridegroom are masked figures, 
tricked up and disguised, so that it would be hard to say 
which is the most deceived in the other. Sometimes it 
is a living creature united to a shadow. Have you ever 
known a man married to a doll? He chose her out and 
paid for her. What a sweet face it is? What high bred 
calm! And then again come the happy lovers, two and 
two ; and as they pass before the high altars, the long 

18 



274 LOVE, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 

white veils of the brides sweep along the gay aisles of 
the churches, their happiness brightens up the faces look- 
ing on. Then, perhaps, some blooming young girl 
comes up, bringing a crutch and a bronchial wheeze, and 
it now and then happens that a youth appears, leading a 
wig of false plaits, a set of false teeth and half a cen- 
tury of bones to the altar. The disparity is not so great 
as you might imagine. There may be a heart still beating 
beneath all these adjustments, while the bridegroom, for 
all his good looks, has not a single drop of warm blood 
in his body. So, bad, good and indifferent, they pass 
their way. Sometimes it is Peace and Goodwill who go 
by, hand in hand. What does it matter if Goodwill's 
beard is grizzled, and Peace has crow's feet round about 
.her loving eyes? Sometimes it is Pride and Vainglory 
that go sweeping past down the long church out into the 
churchyard beyond. They are a fine couple as they sail 
along, and they look to see their reflection in the eyes of 
the by-standers. Sometimes — and this is a very strange 
phenomenon — it is only the past of one of the contract- 
ing parties that is united to the present of the other. 
They find it out too late. 

We believe that the number of "unhappy marriages" 
is vastly overrated by nearly everybody. There is so 
much talk on the subject that it is easy to forget that for 
every instance of complaint there are thousands of be- 
neficent and prosperous unions of which the world never 
hears. It is natural that wrong and outrage should de- 
mand attention, but men and women whose married life 
is full of good and helpfulness, do not often feel an im- 
pulse to go up and down the world defending the system 
under which they live. Then again we have long been 
convinced that the fundamental thought or idea of most 
of these reformers is an error, and a most mischievous 
one. What is an " unhappy marriage?" What is a happy 
one? Most people who complain of the present system 
of marriage show clearly that they think that the chief 
evils and happiness in the lives of men and women who 
are u not happily married" result from marriage itself, or 
from what is false and bad in it. Their criticisms depend 



LOVE, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 275 

chiefly upon the notion that a proper union, a "happy 
marriage," would ensure a happy and prosperous life for 
nearly everybody. We think that most people are as 
u happy in marriage" as they deserve to be — that they 
have about as much of good in it as they are capable of 
enjoying. Not everybody, of course, but we think this 
is true of the great majority of all the married people 
around us. It is absurd to think that so much misery 
and wrong, so much selfishness and cruelty, so much that 
is low, animal and unlovely in the lives of men and wo- 
men results from their being " mismated." In most cases 
there is no possible mating that could make the joint life 
much better. These men and women are undeveloped, 
selfish, exacting. They have undisciplined tempers, and 
they are accustomed to think of "happiness" for them- 
selves as the chief end of marriage. No magic of "mat- 
ing " would make the life of such people very high or 
perfect. In fact, as things now are, marriage is the 
source and nurse of many of the best qualities in the 
lives of most men and women. We think there is noth- 
ing plainer than the fact that the average tendency and 
effect of marriage is beneficial and elevating. Looking 
at men and women as they are, we think it wonderful 
that marriage does so much for them, and has such power 
to lift up their lives to light and beauty. Our reformers 
trust too much to specific treatment for particular evils. 
The real problem is far deeper and more difficult. There 
are no short roads to happiness, or to any kind of heaven 
on earth, or anywhere else. The men and women who 
marry must somehow acquire thoughtfulness, self-control, 
consideration for others, patience, and the other qualities 
without which life is unendurable in any relation we 
know of; and we know of nothing so well adapted to 
accomplish this work of education as marriage itself. It 
is not by any direct effort to improve marriage that any 
real reform is to be brought about, but by the gradual 
instruction and advancement of the people themselves 
in knowledge and virtue, and in all that makes up excel- 
lence of character. We believe that marriage and par- 
entage are indispensable methods of education for the 



276 LOVE, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 

race. Of course we are in favor of any change of the 
laws which define the property rights of married people 
which may in any case be required by justice and right, 
and of any measures that may be needed to remove ob- 
structions which hinder the free and natural working of 
the system of marriage ; but we cannot make the social 
relations of men and women much better, except by the 
elevation of the men and women themselves. 

There w T as a period in Grecian civilization when there 
was a fall from the high esteem in which marriage was at 
first held. It came to be looked upon as an evil, or at 
best a convenience. Then population fell off, virtue be- 
came but a name, and there w^as nearly unlimited free- 
dom of divorce. So there was a period in Roman civili- 
zation when there was a lowering of the lofty conceptions 
of the purity and sacredness of the marriage state. To- 
wards the end of the Republic there was almost absolute 
freedom of divorce, and with the intention of marrying 
again. ■ Virtue, of course, was at a very low ebb. Na- 
tive population decreased, as in Greece. Adultery also 
largely prevailed, contrary to what would at first thought 
be experienced from the ease with which divorces could 
be decreed, but in keeping with what seems to be the 
experience of this country now, notwithstanding the free- 
dom of divorce prevailing. Seneca says — and he was 
not at all noted for morality — that in his time "no 
woman was ashamed of divorce" — a fearful thing to say, 
but only what we are apparently rapidly coming to in 
these days. 

Be it understood that we are opposed to the breaking 
of the marriage covenant, save for reasons given in the 
Bible. This does not say that there are not unhappy 
marriages, where men and women live together because 
they are married, and not so much because they love to 
do so. There are heart-burnings growing out of such 
relations; but is not community in a more healthy con- 
dition with the marriage rights respected, than otherwise. 
While government seeks the good of individuals, she 
must do so by respecting principles upon which the 
greatest good will accrue to the masses. And whatever 



LOVE, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 277 

may be the theory of the "moralsuasionists," legal pro- 
hibition is the bulwark of a nation's safety. Whatever 
the future of nations may be — we leave that to be 
divined. But there is no nation so highly cultivated to- 
day, as not to need the most rigid restraints of law. And 
none, perhaps, should be more rigid than that protecting 
home, life and happiness. The want of congeniality is 
not the cause of home broils and the villainous mother 
of divorces. Foreign, poisonous elements are thrown 
into those hearts and homes. It may be rum, it may be 
indolence, infidelity or lust. Be the invader who he may, 
come he on whatsoever pretext, place at the gate of each 
heart and home the statute of the State. We have no 
sympathy with a looseness of legislation. Though the 
gospel is gentleness and sweetness, it makes filth and 
devils get up and go. If gentle zephyrs do not free the 
air of unwholesome matter, He sends his lightnings 
along that way — it must be purified. Punish crime until 
the criminal feels that it is very unsafe to do wickedly. 
The forest does not grow from the top downward, but 
from numerous little seeds upwards. Great reforms do 
not come from our halls of legislation, but from little 
seeds germinating in society. These germs must be pro- 
tected. The State takes care of the fishes of her lakes 
and rivers in their seasons, and she punishes the violator 
of the homes of her birds. Let her protect the nestling 
virtue of her homes. Too high a premium cannot be 
placed upon the sanctity of her families. Let it be felt 
whoever or whatever intrudes, does so under penalty. 
Let the wife feel that she has a husband, and the law will 
see that he is true, and sober, and industrious. Let the 
husband feel that he has a wife, home, and heaven on 
earth, and that the State has an interest in keeping it so. 
Honor the marriage rite, and punish the invader of its 
purity. 

It is a glorious sight to see two old people, who have 
weathered the storms and basked in the sunshine of life 
together, go hand in hand, loving and thoughtfully, 
together down the gentle declivity of time, with no 
anger, nor jealousy, nor hatred, garnered up against each 



278 WHOM DO GREAT MEN MARRY ? 

other, and looking with hope and joy to the everlasting" 
youth of Heaven, where they two shall be one forever. 
That is a true marriage, for it is a marriage of spirit with 
spirit. Their love is woven into a woof of gold, that 
neither time, nor death, nor eternity can sever. 



WHOM DO GREAT MEN MARRY? 

Women of course. But they show the same great di- 
versity of taste that is seen in the lower rank, and upon 
the whole make worse mistakes. They, however, show 
the same sense in choosing wives that they show in 
managing other people's affairs, whether it be good or 
bad. Robert Burns married a farm girl with whom he 
fell in love while they worked together in the plow-field. 
He, too, was irregular in his life, and committed the most 
serious mistakes in conducting his domestic affairs. Mil- 
ton married the daughter of a country squire, but lived 
with her only a short time. He was austere, exacting, 
a literary recluse ; while she was a rosy, romping lass that 
could not endure the restraint imposed upon her ; so they 
separated. Subsequently, however, she returned, and 
they lived tolerably happy. Queen 'Victoria and Prince 
Albert were cousins, and about the only example in the 
long line of English monarchs wherein the martial vows 
were sacredly observed and sincere affection existed. 
Shakspeare loved and wedded a farmer's daughter. She 
proved faithful to her vows, but we could hardly say the 
same of the great bard himself. Like most of the great 
poets, he showed too little discrimination in bestowing 
his affections on the other sex. Byron married Miss 
Millbank to get money to pay his debts. It turned out 
a bad shift. Benjamin Franklin married the girl who 
stood in her father's door and laughed at him as he wan- 
dered through the streets of Philadelphia with a roll of 
bread under his arm and his pocket filled with dirty 
clothes. She had occasion to be happy when she found 
herself the wife of such a good and great man. Wash- 



A HINT TO STERN PARENTS. 279 

ington married a widow with two children. It is enough 
to say of her that she was worthy of him, and that they 
lived, as married folks should live, in perfect harmony. 
John Adams married the daughter of a Presbyterian 
clergyman. Her father objected on account of John's 
being a lawyer ; he had a bad opinion of the morals of 
his profession. Thomas Jefferson married Mrs. Martha 
Skelton, a childless widow, but she brought him a large 
fortune in real estate. After the ceremony she mounted 
the horse behind him and they rode home together. It 
was late in the evening and they found the fire out. But 
the great statesman hurried about and rebuilt it, while 
she seized the broom and soon put things in order. It is 
needless to say that they were happy, though Jefferson 
died a poor man, on account of his extreme liberality and 
hospitality. John Howard, the great philanthropist, 
married his nurse. She was altogether beneath him in 
social life, and intellectual capacity, and, besides this, 
she was fifty- two years old, while he was but twenty-five. 
He would not take "no" for answer; and they were mar- 
ried, and lived happily together until her death, which 
occurred about two years afterwards. Peter the Great, 
of Russia, married a peasant girl. She made an excellent 
wife and sage empress. Humboldt married a poor girl 
because he loved her. Of course they were happy. It 
is not generally known that Andrew Jackson married a 
lady whose husband was still living. She was an unedu- 
cated, but amiable woman, and was most devotedly at- 
tached to the old warrior and statesman. John C. Cal- 
houn married his cousin, and their children fortunately 
were neither diseased nor idiotic, but they do not evince 
the .talent of the great " State Rights 1 ' advocate. Edward 
Lytton Bulwer, the great English statesman and novelist, 
married a girl much his inferior in position, and got a 
shrew for a wife. She is now insane. 



A HINT TO STERN PARENTS. 

It is a sore trial, says Charles Lamb, when a daughter 
shall marry against her father's approbation. A little 



280 A HINT TO STERN PARENTS. 

hard-heartedness and aversion to a reconcilement, is 
almost pardonable. After all, Will Dockwray's way is, 
perhaps, the wisest. His best loved daughter made a 
most imprudent match, in fact, eloped with the last man 
in the world that her father would have wished her to 
marry. All the world said that he would never speak 
to her again. For months she durst not write to him, 
much less come near him. But in a casual rencounter 
he met her in the streets of Ware, that will long remem- 
ber the mild virtues of William Dockwray, Esq. What 
said the parent to his disobedient child, whose knees fal- 
tered under her at the sight of him? Ha, Sukey, is it 
you? with that benevolent aspect with which he paced 
the streets of Ware, venerated as an angel, — " come and 
dine with us on Sunday ; " then turning away, and again 
turning back, as if he had forgotten something, he added, 
— "and, Sukey, do you hear? bring your husband with 
you." This was all the reproof she ever heard from him. 
Need it be added that the match turned out better for 
Susan than the world expected? 

Pitt was an unfortunate statesman; but he had a lofty 
eloquence, capacious views, and a noble mind. Sir Wal- 
ter Farquahar calling one day, the premier observed him 
to be unusually ruffled. "What's the matter ? " exclaimed 
the premier. "Why, to tell you the truth," replied Sir 
Walter, "I am extremely angry with my daughter. She 
has permitted herself to form an attachment for a young 
gentleman by no means qualified in point of rank and for- 
tune to be my son-in-law." "Now let me say one word in 
the lady's behalf," returned the minister. " Is the young 
man you mention of respectable family?" "He is." "Is 
he respectable in himself?" "He is." "Has he the man- 
ners and education of a gentleman ? " "He has," "Why 
then, my dear Sir Walter, hesitate no longer. You are 
well acquainted with the delusions of life. 'Let your 
daughter follow her own inclinations, since they appear 
to be virtuous. You have had more opportunities than 
I have of knowing the value of affection, and ought to 
respect it. Let the union take place and I will not be 
unmindful that I had the honor of recommending it." 



AFFECTION. 281 

The physician followed the direction of his patient ; the 
lovers were united; and the patronage of the minister 
testified his satisfaction. 

He who gets a good husband for his daughter, hath 
gained a son; but he who meets with a bad one, hath 
lost a daughter. 

To hasten a marriage, lock up the girl and show the 
lover the door. 



AFFECTION. 

There is somethi lg inexpressibly beautiful in the mani- 
festation of the affections which spring up and flow forth 
from the better feelings of our nature — in those traits of 
holy feeling which prompt a mother's love, in the con- 
fiding spirit of the child toward its parents and chosen 
playmates, and in the influence of that passion which 
incites to harmonious union of soul with soul. There is 
something holy in the trusting confidence of woman's 
love, — something unfathomable in the depth and extent 
of her influence in the world. The music of an angel's 
song dwells in her gentle tones of affection, with a power 
to win from wrong and sin — to incite the noblest cour- 
age, and prompt the highest resolves. 

Cherish then the spirit of kindly affection. Let the 
love of childhood find a return, never repulsing the con- 
fiding tenderness every child displays when surrounded 
by kindly influences. Remember how much of the joy 
of life flows from the sympathetic mingling of congenial 
spirits, and seek to bind such to you closer and closer 
with the golden links of affection's easy bondage. 

You who declaim so bitterly against the evils of worldly 
existence, and the wickedness of your brother men, 
could you but discern the beauty and harmony which 
now reigns around you unheeded, its power to make you 
happy unemployed — or would you call forth from the 
chambers of memory some treasured joy, or dream of 
happiness known in other years, or rekindle some strong 
emotion, which has given sunlight to your path, methinks 



282 AFFECTION. 

you would oftener thank Heaven for those blessings 
shared and possessed, and cease to desire what your un- 
thankfulness places above your deserts. 

The heaven-born gift of prayer is yours. How sweet, 
amid the cares and trials of life, to turn from the fickle- 
ness of friends— the evils of poverty, or the pains of 
sickness to that unchanging and steadfast Friend who 
heedeth the cry of supplication, and noteth every occur- 
rence — even "the sparrows fall." To him we can pour 
out the sorrows Avhich oppress our hearts, and receive 
in return His sympathy, and the knowledge that he 
careth for our welfare. Oh ! at such times we feel as 
though angels were ascending and descending, bearing 
unto God the burden of our suffering and our sorrow, 
and bringing down from his blessed Home above, mes- 
sages of joy and love, the strength and consolation of 
our wearied soul. 

In certain ages, and even to-day in certain places, men 
have sought to divorce religion and affection — have en- 
deavored to put the two far apart. They have acted 
upon the mistaken theory that piety means asceticism — 
that to grow in spiritual grace they must become dead 
to everything tenderly and lovingly human — must hold 
themselves separate from their kind and acknowledge no 
brotherhood with their fellows. So they have become 
hermits, and have lived the life of the recluse. But all 
this is wrong. The best men of the Bible were live 
men, — men who cherished sweet affections and hesitated 
not to declare them. The most lion-hearted in their 
dealings with sin were the most lamb-like in loving, — 
tender and true. In the common things of the world, 
so-called, those characters, are of most worth in which 
there abounds fullness of affection — in which there throbs 
a large, live heart. And so in Christian life, they serve 
God best whose out-reaching sympathies compel wide 
service for humanity, — who know all men in a common 
brotherhood, and are moved by human needs to noble 
doings. 

Sometimes it happens that the husband or the wife 
hesitates to urge his or her companion on to a Christian 



AFFECTION. 283 

walk, fearing separation must come between. But how 
can separation come, when love to God only increases 
love to all His creatures? God is not jealous in this 
matter. Is it a sign, because He took away your child, 
that He hated the child? — that He was jealous of the love 
your child drew forth? Not so. He only loved the little 
one more than you loved it — loved it so well that He 
would spare it all possibility of sin and pain. God's very 
nature is love ; and what he implanted in the heart of 
humanity He will not rebuke. 

There are Christian homes wherein love seems re- 
strained, in which there is little of manifest affection. Is 
such a state of things in full accord with our Saviour's 
Gospel? Did Christ restore Lazarus from the dead 
simply as an exhibition of His miraculous power? We 
think not. We prefer to believe the restoration was a 
tribute to the rare love of those weeping sisters. Human 
affection is a blessed influence in this religion of ours ; the 
influence broadens and deepens in proportion as this affec- 
tion is broad and deep, and unrestrained. Say you that 
we must not worship what God has given us? Love is 
not worship — it never need be. It is another thing in 
character, in very essence. Love, indeed, is a Christian 
duty, and so is worship— of a certain kind : in so far they 
are kin. Unless we love we are not Christian. Unless 
religion warms our hearts toward wife and child — toward 
all human kind — it is scarcely to be trusted. 

We sometimes meet with men who seem to think that 
any indulgence in an affectionate feeling is weakness. 
They will return from a journey and greet their families 
with a distant dignity, and move among their children 
with the cold and lofty splendor of an iceberg, sur- 
rounded by its broken fragments. There is hardly a 
more unnatural sight on earth, than one of those families 
without a heart. A father had better extinguish his boy's 
eyes, than take away his heart. Who that has experi- 
enced the joys of friendship, and values sympathy and 
affection, would not rather lose all that is beautiful in 
nature's scenery, than be robbed of the hidden treasure 
of his heart? Who would not rather bury his wife than 



284 AFFECTION. 

bury his love for her ? Who would not rather follow his 
child to the grave, than entomb his parental affection? 
Cherish, then, your heart's best affections. Indulge in the 
warm and gushing emotions of filial, parental, and fra- 
ternal love. Think it not a weakness. God is love. 
Love God, love everybody, and everything that is lovely. 
Teach your children to love ; to love the rose, the robin ; 
to love their parents ; to love their God. Let it be the 
studied object of their domestic culture to give them 
warm hearts, ardent affections. Bind your whole family 
together by these strong cords. You cannot make them 
too strong. Religion is love; love to God; love toman. 

" To love the little platoon we belong to in society is 
the germ of all public affections." True, most true! 
The innocent association of childhood, the kind mother 
who taught us the first accents of prayer, and watched 
with anxious face over our slumbers, the ground on which 
our little feet first trod, the pew in which we first sat in 
public worship, the school in which our first rudiments 
were taught, the torn Virgil, the dog-eared Horace, the 
friends and companions of our young days, the authors 
who first told us the history of our country, the songs 
that first made our hearts throb with noble and generous 
emotions, the burying place of our fathers, the cradles of 
our children, are surely the objects which nature tells us 
to love. Philanthropy, like charity, must begin at home. 
From this center our sympathies may extend in an ever 
widening circle. 

Affection is the Fire, confined and guarded, yet care- 
fully cherished, — which gives its cheerful warmth to the 
household. Through the darkness and gloom of Grief, 
it sheds its rays of brightness and its influences of cheer 
over the circle. Amid the intense rigors of Adversity, 
it still may make the life within doors peaceful and genial. 
It goes into the drawing-room, with its costly furnishings ; 
into the library, with its ranged books and maps; into 
the pleasant, familiar place of rest and converse ; and it 
makes them all cheerful. It goes up into the nursery, 
and folds the little ones in the influence of its power. It 
makes all more glad to come home from the world, and 



AFFECTION. 285 

to gather in groups round the family hearth. It is the 
cheer er, enlighten er, and comforter of life ; a serviceable 
friend, as well as a brilliant and beautiful companion ; 
and without it, the world would be desolate and cold. 
Passion is the same Fire, broken loose from restraint and 
devastating life. The choicest powers are swept before 
it. The finest ornaments, of culture and taste, are de- 
spoiled in its hot grasp. The most delightful circles are 
broken up and destroyed. The home of intelligence and 
happiness becomes a blackened and charred heap. Who 
then will say that .God does not wisely, in giving the re- 
straints of his Truth and his Law, the guardianships of 
his Providence, the admonitions of Conscience, the warn- 
ings oi Penalty, the example of his Son, to hold Affection 
within its limits ? In guarding it — while he also enkindles 
and cherishes it by the glow of his Word and the breath 
of his Spirit — in guarding it so vigilantly, from this deso- 
lating spread ? Take away these restraints, and the world 
itself would be wrapped in the fury of universal Passion. 
Let each man for himself hold it firmly in the control of 
a God-guided Will. 

A few days since, as I was carelessly passing through 
the beautiful cemetery at Cleveland and reading the silent 
memorials of the dead, my attention was arrested by a 
monument representing a beautiful little child that had 
fallen asleep while strewing flowers on the grave of its 
mother. The affecting tale was depicted in the sculptured 
marble too plainly to be mistaken. I inquired of the 
sexton the reason of the design, who informed me that 
the mother of that child died when she w^as but six years 
old. Her father, at the earnest solicitation of his sister, 
finally consented to part with his little daughter, and let 
her go and live with her aunt, in Michigan. A sad fore- 
boding told the widowed father it would be their last 
parting — and as the little girl bid farewell, and stepped 
on board the steamboat that was to carry her to her new 
home, the tears coursing down the father's cheeks, told 
of a sorrowful heart. The little child, as the boat left 
the moorings, seeing the distress of her father, called to 
him — u Don't cry, pa, I will come back soon." Scarcely 



286 HOW TO AVOID A BAD HUSBAND. 

had she reached her new home, when she was seized with 
a sickness so violent and rapid in its termination, that 
the same mail that informed her father of her sickness, 
also brought the sad intelligence of her death. Just as 
the rattling throat gave warning notice of the death 
struggle, the little sufferer looked up into the face of her 
aunt, and evidently was anxious to say something which 
her feelings rather than her weakness prevented. Her 
aunt asked her what she wanted to say. " Oh, it's no 
matter," said the little sufferer — "but when 1 am dead, 
tell Pa to bury me by the side of mother." This was the 
last struggle of Nature — she was dead. "That child," 
said the sexton, as he brushed a tear from his eye, " was 
my little daughter." 

When hearts are filled with holy affections, and home 
is happy, then do the young dwell in a charmed circle, 
which only the naturally depraved would seek to quiet, 
and across which boundary temptations to error shine out 
but feebly. 

Every word spoken from affection, leaves an everlast- 
ing impression in the mind ; and every thought spoken 
from affection, becomes a living creature ; and the same 
also if not spoken, if so be that it be folly assented unto 
by the mind. 

Affection, like spring flowers, breaks through the most 
frozen ground at last ; and the heart that seeks but for 
another heart to make it happy, will never seek in vain. 

Affection or love is what constitutes the life of every 
person, for whatever the affection is, such is the whole 
man. 



HOW TO AYOID A BAD HUSBAND. 

Never marry for wealth. A woman's life consisteth 
not in the things she possesseth. Never marry a fop, or 
one who struts about dandy -like, in his silk gloves and 
ruffles, with silvered cane, and rings on his fingers. Be- 
ware! — there is a trap. Never marry a niggard, a close- 
fisted, mean, sordid wretch, who saves every penny, or 



HOW TO AVOID A BAD HUSBAND. 287 

spends it grudgingly. Take care lest he stint you to 
death. Never marry a stranger, or one whose character 
is not known or tested. Some females jump right into 
the fire, with their eyes wide open. Never marry a mope 
or drone, one who drawls and struggles through life, one 
foot after another, and lets things take their own course. 
Never marry a man who treats his mother or sister un- 
kindly or indifferently. Such treatment is a sure indica- 
tion of a mean and wicked man. Never, on any account, 
marry a gambler, a profane person, one who in the least 
speaks lightly of God or religion. Such a man can 
never make a gcod husband. Never marry a sloven, a 
man who is negligent of his person or his dress, and is 
filthy in his habits. The external appearance is an index 
to the heart. Shun the rake as a snake, a viper, a very 
demon. Finally never marry a man w r ho is addicted to 
the use of ardent spirits. Depend upon it, you are bet- 
ter off alone, than you would be were you tied to a man 
whose breath is polluted, and whose vitals are being 
gnawed out by alcohol. 

A lady says: — "Take my advice, ye young maidens 
contemplating matrimony. Never marry a man who is 
unkind to his mother, snubs his sisters, helps himself to 
the best at the table, is afraid of work, or is unable to 
support you." A shrewd old gentleman once said to 
his daughter: "Be sure, my dear, that you never marry 
a poor man ; but remember, the poorest man in the world 
is one that has money, and nothing else." It is related 
that an Athenian, who was hesitating whether to give his 
daughter in marriage to a man of worth with a small for- 
tune, or to a rich man who had no other recommenda- 
tion, went to consult Themistocles on the subject. The 
philosopher, in a spirit of true wisdom, said, "I would 
bestow my daughter upon a man without money, rather 
than upon money without a man." Marriages for money 
seldom conduce to social comfort and happiness, and often 
result in the utter destruction of domestic peace, in crimi- 
nation, coldness, and estrangement. And yet the love 
ot money is seldom manifest in greater strength than in 
the formation of those life-long alliances -where the parties 



288 HOW TO AVOID A BAD HUSBAND. 

bind themselves to "take each other for better or for 
worse," and give their mutual pledge to stand by and aid 
each other amid all the storms and privations and perils 
of life. 

Those parents who are chiefly anxious to have their 
daughters marry a fortune, who value money more than 
character, integrity, enterprise and correct habits, will, 
in most cases, lament their shortsightedness, infatuation 
and folly. There is happiness in a cottage where virtue, 
intelligence and kindness dwell. A palace will not yield 
it in the absence of these. It is not those families where 
there is the greatest profusion of wealth, who are most 
to be envied. In many a splendid mansion there are 
aching hearts, disappointed hopes, corroding cares and 
scalding tears. Let us not be misunderstood. We arc 
not depreciating or decrying wealth. It confers and se- 
cures many advantages. It gives to its possessor influ- 
ence, position and power. u Castaris paribus" as we 
were taught in our school-boy days to say, other things 
being equal, it is desirable, highly beneficial, and emi- 
nently comfortable. But it is not worth sacrificing do- 
mestic peace to possess, it is not worth enduring the 
strife of tongues, it is not worth the lifelong reproach, 
"you married me for my money." Mothers who force 
their daughters into interested marriages are worse than 
the Ammonites who sacrificed their children to Moloch 
— the latter undergoing a speedy death, the former suf- 
fering years of torture, but too frequently leading to the 
same result. 

Now heed my words my precious girl ! 

Affection is the richest pearl, 

Nor lightly should be thrown away 

On them who cannot love repay ; 

Beware to whom thou shalt impart 

That priceless jewel of the heart ! 

Care not alone for form or face, 

Or winning words, or witching grace, 

But choose thou one whose honored name 

Thou canst be proud to share and claim ; 

Let it be one of cultured mind, 

Of generous thoughts and feelings kind, 

Who never sought nor e'er would seek 

To wrong the helpless or the weak, 

But ever would employ his best 

To shield the friendless and opprest, 

Who proudly treads temptation down 



BACHELORS. 289 



Nor shrinks at fortune's darkest frown ; 
Whose equal soul and mind sedate, 
Can stand unmoved each change of fate ; 
Whose faith is firm, whose honor bright, 
Whose love is an immortal light ! 
Such were the love, and such alone, 
That can be worthy of thy own. 



BACHELORS. 

A bachelor, if he possesses a vivid fancy, can have 
considerable enjoyment in speculating upon his future 
fate. While he is making up his mind to what beauty 
he shall offer his hand, he roams amid a harem of the im- 
agination, a sort of mental polygamist. 

The old bachelor looks critically on men's wives. He 
takes an investigating interest in them. But he does so 
in a critical and an analytical sort of way, which the hus- 
bands did not practice in the first instance, and which 
they would hardly like to have fully explained to them 
now. But the bachelor is nothing if not critical. He 
detects the tinge of red or gray, the inequalities of curve 
or line, and sees clearly through all the mysteries and 
artifices of the toilet. He has got an exhaustive sneer : 
"The poor fellow has married for money," or, "The 
poor fellow has married for love." " By Jove, sir! Look 
at that woman's waspish waist! Where can she have 
crammed her viscera ?" — or such like personal observa- 
tion. Whatever jewel a man may think he has found, 
the connoisseur bachelor will hold that he can find a flaw 
in it. Sometimes he will do this quite cynically. Other 
men will do it just as often, though not cynically. The 
object of such criticisms is very often some mere self- 
glorification. If he — the bachelor — had married, no one 
would have been able to criticise Caesar's wife. He would 
not have missed fortune, as one friend has done, or beauty, 
as a second, or family, as a third. His wife would have 
far transcended the commonplace wives of average men. 
She would be everything that a woman ought to be. In 
short, the bachelor's wife is always perfection in the ab- 
stract. 

19 



290 BACHELORS. 

If in that chair yonder — not the one your feet lie upon 
— but the other beside you — closer yet — Were seated a 
sweet faced girl, with a pretty little foot lying out upon 
the hearth, a bit of lace running round the throat, and 
her hair parted to a charm oyer a forehead fair as any in 
your dreams, and if you could reach an arm through that 
chair-back without fear of giving offence, and suffer your 
fingers to play idly with those carls that escape down the 
neck, and if you could clasp with your other hand those 
little white taper fingers of hers which lie so temptingly 
within reach, and talk so softly and low in the presence 
of the blaze, while the hours slip without knowledge, and 
the winter winds whistle uncared for — if, in short, you 
were not a bachelor, but the husband of such a sweet 
image — dream call it, rather — would it not be far pleas- 
anter than a cold, single night, sitting counting the 
sticks, reckoning the length of the blaze and the 
height of the falling snow. Surely imagination would 
be stronger and purer if it could have the playful 
fancies of dawning womanhood to delight it. All toil 
would be torn from mind labor, if but another heart grew 
into this present, soul quickening it, warming it, cheer- 
ing it, bidding it ever God speed. Her face would make 
a halo rich as a rainbow atop of all such noisome things 
as we lonely souls call trouble. Her smile would illumi- 
nate the blackest of crowded cares ; and darkness that 
now seats you despondent in your solitary chair, for days 
together, weaving bitter fancies, dreaming bitter dreams, 
would grow light and thin and spread and float away, 
chased by that beloved smile. Your friend, poor fellow, 
dies — never mind ; that gentle clasp of her fingers, as she 
steals behind you telling you not to weep — is worth ten 
friends. Your sister, sweet one, is dead — buried. The 
worms are busy with all her fairness. How it makes you 
think earth nothing but a spot to dig graves upon . It is 
more. She says she will be a sister; and the waving 
curls, as she leans upon your shoulder, touch your cheek, 
and your wet eye turns to meet those other eyes. God 
has sent his angel surely ! Your mother— alas for it ! — 
she's gone ! Is there any bitterness to a youth alone and 



BACHELORS. 291 

homeless like this? You are not alone. She is there — 
her tears softening yours, her grief killing yours, and you 
live again to assuage that kind sorrow of hers. Then 
these children, rosy, fair-haired ; no, they do not disturb 
you with prattle now. They are yours. Toss away there 
on the green sward. Never mind the hyacinths, the 
snow-drops, the violets, if so be they are there. The 
perfume of their beautiful lips is worth all the flowers of 
the world. No need now to gather wild bouquets to 
love and cherish. Flower, tree, gun, all are dead things. 
Things lovelier hold your soul; and she, the mother, 
sweetest and fairest of all, watching, tending, caressing, 
loving till your own heart grows pained with jealousy. 
You have no need now of a cold lecture to teach thank- 
fulness ; your heart is full of it — no need now, as once, 
of bursting blossoms, of trees taking leaf and greenness, 
to turn thought kindly and thankfully ; for ever beside 
you there is bloom, and ever beside you there is fruit for 
which eye, heart, and soul are full of unknown, unspoken, 
because unspeakable, thank-offerings. 

Bachelors may be known by their unpolished manners, 
and generally lack buttons ; while married men are dis- 
tinguished by their ease in ladies society, and domestic 
looking phizzes. 

A judicious wife is always chipping off from her hus- 
band's moral nature little twigs that are growing in wrong 
directions. She keeps him in shape by continual prun- 
ing. If you say nothing silly, she will affectionately tell 
you so. If you declare that you will do some absurd 
thing, she will find means of preventing your doing it. 
And by far the greatest part of all the common sense 
there is in this world, belongs unquestionably to woman. 
The wisest things a man commonly does, are those which 
his wife counsels him to do. 

Dr. Stark, of the Scottish Register office, has com- 
pared the vital statistics of married and unmarried men, 
and announces that the mean age of the married at death 
is 60.2 years, while that of the bachelors is only 47.7— 
excluding those who die before twenty-five in both classes. 
We don't wish to see every body against the poor bache- 



292 BACHELORS, 

lors, but this point seems to demand the attention of life- 
insurance companies — if, indeed, bachelors ever imagine 
their lives worth enough to any body to deserve insur- 
ing. We did not know that to the command " increase 
and multiply" was tacitly attached the promise " that thy 
days may be long in the land," etc; but it seems, so far, 
that if bachelors wish to recover an average of twelve 
and a-half years of life, or such part thereof as may not 
be already irretrievably forfeited, they should make haste 
to be married. Celibacy appears to be one of Nature's 
capital offenses. 

Once for all, there is no misery so distressful as the 
desperate agony of trying to keep young when one can't. 
I know an old bachelor who has attempted it. His affec- 
tation of youth, like all affectations, is a melancholy fail- 
ure. He is a rapid young man of fifty. He plies inno- 
cent young ladies with the pretty compliments and soft 
nothings in vogue when he was a spooney youth of 
twenty. The fashion of talking to young ladies has 
changed within thirty years, you know, and this aged 
boy's soft nothings seem more out of date than a two- 
year-old bonnet. They make you think, somehow, of 
that time-honored frog-story, wherein is set forth the dis- 
covery of galvanic electricity. When you see his old- 
fashioned young antics — his galvanic gallantry, so to 
speak, and hear the speeches he makes to girls in their 
teens, when he ought to be talking to them like a father, 
you involuntarily call him an old idiot, and long to re- 
mind him of that quaint rebuke of grand old John : — 
u Thou talkest like one upon whose head the shell is to 
this very day." That is how he seems. He is old enough 
to have been almost full-fledged before you were born, 
and here he is trying to make believe that he is still in 
the days of his gosling-green, with the shell sticking on 
his head to this day! It is a melancholy absurdity. One 
can't be young unless one is young. Only once is it given 
to us to be untried and soft, and gushing and superlative, 
and when the time comes for it all to go, no sort of effort 
can hold back the fleeting days. 

" I wish that I had married thirty years ago, solilo- 



FASHION. 293 

quised an old bachelor. Oh! I wish a wife and half a 
score of children would start up around me, and bring 
along with them all that affection which we should have 
had for each other by being early acquainted. But as it 
is, in my present state there is not a person in the world 
I care a straw for ; and the world is pretty even with me, 
for I don't believe there is a person in it who cares a straw 
for me." A bachelor editor says: " We never cared a 
farthing about getting married until we attended an old 
bachelor's funeral. God grant that our latter end may 
not be like his." 

A lady had been teaching the summer school in a cer- 
tain town, and a young sprig of the law paid her some 
attention, so much so that he was joked about her. He 
replied that he "should look higher for a wife." It came 
to the lady's ears, and she meditated a little bit of re- 
venge. An opportunity soon offered. They were at a 
party together, and to redeem her forfeit she was to make 
his epitaph. She gave the following : 

" Here lies a man who looked so high, 
He passed all common damsels by, 
And they who looked as high as he 
Declared his bride they would not be ; 
So 'twixt them both he died a bach, 
And now has gone to the old scratch." 



FASHION. 

What shall we wear? is a question whose solution has 
always commanded a large share of the attention of 
mankind. In no nation is the dress and adornment 
of the person considered an unimportant matter, and 
in most nations this solicitude usurps a marked and 
prominent place among the cares of life. It is true 
that apparel is not, like food and drink, of vital import- 
ance, but it is made a central study with a large class of 
people, and many a fine lady may be found who cares less 
for her dinner than for her dress. Spite of all the phil- 
osophic depreciation of "externals," and spite of all the 
solemn preaching against "the lust of the eye, and the 



294 FASHION. 

pride of life," the art of outward adornment continues 
to be sedulously cultivated, and multitudes live as if dress 
were the chief end of woman, if not of man. 

Costume has a two-fold adaptation — for use, and for 
adornment. Were we confined wholly to the former 
end, not only would the major part of modern ward- 
robes be swept out of existence, but we should lose much 
that now constitutes the charm and the attraction of cos- 
tume. A severe utilitarianism is almost as bad as an ex- 
travagant profusion in dress. We cannot afford the ruin 
of good taste, nor the loss of symmetry and harmony, 
much better than we can afford the depletion of the purse 
which such things cost. The ascetic argument about 
dress is in no danger of carrying the day. A gener- 
ation liberal enough to tolerate the expansive reign of 
crinoline is not likely speedily to reduce the sex that 
wears it to the sober inexpensiveness of drab. How- 
ever the true text, that "the Kingdom of God cometh 
not by observation," a majority of the fairer sex would 
reluct at being seen even in ascension robes as homely 
as are worn by the stricter Quakers or the Shaker sis- 
terhood. 

Decoration is the natural incident or complement of 
dress, but is too often made its essence. The mere dis- 
play of ornament marks a rude development of mind 
and character. Michelet. tells us of women of the most 
savage races, painted and jewelled to the most extrava- 
gant degree, but without a rag of clothing to cover them. 
This love of the finery of dress, wholly distinct from its 
use, is characteristic of the undeveloped negro race. 
Surely, some of our would be elegant belles cannot have 
considered what comparisons they provoke, when they 
dazzle our eyes with a display of jewelry and of colors 
which would excite the envy of the sable dames of Congo 
or Dahomey. 

Nothing in human nature is more remarkable than the 
almost omnipotent power of custom over this matter of 
dress, as of so many other things. Persons possessed of 
the greatest independence in other matters, bow to the 
irresistible dominion of the u fashion." It makes but 



FASHION. 295 

little difference whether what is called the fashion be ra- 
tional or ridiculous ; it is to be implicitly followed, so 
long as it remains the mode. When it ceases to be the 
mode, it ceases to be tolerable, however convenient or 
admirable it may intrinsically be. It is true, variety is 
tolerated within a certain range, but none of that per- 
petual and wide diversity which would give character 
and piquancy to our social gatherings is encouraged by 
the leaders of taste and fashion, unless it be in that ex- 
ception to all rules — a masquerade. 

The imitative faculty is one of the strongest implanted 
in nature, and its exercise is not confined to the uncul- 
tivated and the rude. In conventional life, it causes men 
to follow what is considered the highest standard, how- 
ever far that standard may be from reason or nature. 
King Charles has a wry neck, and all the courtiers culti- 
vate the fashion of holding their heads on one side. No 
people, in civilization or out of it, is insensible to the in- 
fluence of . custom. Curiously enough, England and 
America borrow their fashions from France, and follow 
them with a rigidity which far surpasses the originators. 
Fortunately, we take after a nation remarkable for its 
fickleness of character, so that no absurdity can be per- 
petuated. Continual change gives the chance, at least, 
of continual improvement, and we are in no danger of 
deteriorating into a stereotype monotony of ugliness. 
Imitation has its evils, but if the model be a progressive 
one, variety is not one of them. We should hail with 
gladness anything which promises to break up the dead 
level of uniformity which seeks to reduce all characters, 
costumes and manners to one common standard. 

One is almost ashamed to speak of fashion. It is one 
of those obstinate things that will not budge. It is the 
only thing that a bad name will not kill. Like the hydra, 
it always has two heads for the end cut off, a vitality that 
the highest and holiest things have never yet stood up 
against. I can conceive that fashion might become not 
the minister of high art alone, but of morals and virtue ; 
that in the hands of the noble and pure, and the broad 
and true, it might become a real boon to man. Herbert 



296 FASHION. 

Spencer says: "As those who take orders are not those 
having' a special fitness for the priestly office; as legis- 
lators and public functionaries do not become such by 
virtue of their political insight and power to rule, so 
the self-elected clique who set the fashion, gain this pre- 
rogative, not by their force of nature, their intellect, 
their higher worth or better taste, but solely by their un- 
checked assumption. Instead of a continual progress 
toward greater elegance and convenience, which might 
be expected to occur, did people copy the ways of the 
really best, or follow their own ideas of propriety, we 
have a reign of mere whim, of unreason, of change for 
the sake of change, of wanton oscillations from either 
extreme to the other — a reign of usages without mean- 
ing, times without fitness, dress without taste. And thus 
life a la mode, instead of being life conducted in the 
most rational manner, is life regulated by spendthrifts 
and idlers, milliners and tailors, and dandies and silly 
women!" Oh, that we should so stoop — we w^ho call our- 
selves, in churches, children of God, and claim that the 
Almighty hath given us understanding — that we should 
stoop to become puppets that will respond to any pull 
that vulgar men or women choose? Jennie June, who 
is well known as an entertaining fashion writer, says that 
the Empress Eugenie does not originate the fashions, 
neither do any ladies of real rank and distinction ; they 
adopt them, and thus set the seal of their acknowledged 
authority upon them, but no lady would be the first to 
wear a striking novelty, or a style so new, or so outre as 
to be likely to attract public attention. This is left for 
the leaders of the demi-monde, several of whom are in 
the pay of Parisian dress-makers and modistes. The 
noted worth, the man-milliner of Paris, who receives all 
the money and exercises all the impudence which have 
placed him at the head of his profession, while women 
do all the work, has in his employ a dozen fashion writers 
and several of the most noted leaders of Parisian society. 
These latter are selected for their fine appearance and 
dashing manners. Toilettes, equipages and boxes at the 
theatre and opera are provided for them. Dead or 



FASHION. 297 

dying, they are required to show themselves at these 
places on all suitable occasions, in extraordinary dresses 
made by the u renowned" Worth, as the fashion corres- 
pondents say, who in this way take up the burden of the 
song, and echo it even upon these Western shores. It 
is the height of ambition with some American women 
to go to Paris, and have a dress made by Worth ; and 
dearly do they sometimes pay for their folly, not only in 
immense prices for very small returns, but in degrading 
their American womanhood by following in so disgraceful 
a scramble with so mixed an assemblage. 

An old Scottish preacher is reported to have said, in 
one of his sermons at Aberdeen: "Ye people of Aber- 
deen get your fashions from Glasgow, and Glasgow from 
Edinburg, and Edinburg from London, and London from 
Paris, and Paris from the Devil." 

Fashion rules the world, and a most tyrannical mistress 
she is, — compelling people to submit to the most incon- 
venient things imaginable for her sake. She pinches our 
feet with tight shoes, or chokes us with a tight neck- 
kerchief, or squeezes the breath out of our body by tight 
lacing. She makes people sit up by night, when they 
ought to be in bed, and keeps them in bed in the morn- 
ing when they ought to be up and doing. She makes it 
vulgar to wait upon ones' self, and genteel to live idly 
and uselessly. She makes people visit when they would 
rather stay at home, eat when they are not hungry, and 
drink when they are not thirsty. She invades our pleas- 
ures and interrupts our business. She compels people 
to dress gaily, whether upon their own property or that 
of others — whether agreeably to the word, of God or 
the dictates of pride. 

Fashion kills more women than toil and sorrow. Obe- 
dience to fashion is a greater transgression of the laws of 
woman's nature, a greater injury to her physical and 
mental constitution, than the hardships of poverty and 
neglect. The slave woman at her task will live and grow 
old, and see two or three generations of her mistress fade 
and pass away. The washerwoman, with scarce a ray 
of hope to cheer her toils, will live to see her fashionable 



298 FASHION. 

sisters all extinct. The kitchen maid is hearty and 
strong when her lady has to be nursed like a sick baby. 
It is a sad truth that fashion-pampered women are worth- 
less for all the good ends of life; they have but little 
force of character, they have still less power of moral 
will, and quite as little physical energy. They live for 
no great purpose in life — they accomplish no great ends. 
They are dolls, formed in the hands of milliners and 
servants, to be dressed and fed to order. If they rear 
children, servants and nurses do all, save conceive and 
give them birth. And when reared what are they? 
What do they ever amount to but weaker scions of the 
old stock ? Who ever heard of a fashionable woman's 
child exhibiting any virtue and power of mind for which 
it became eminent? Read the biographies of our great 
and good men and women. No one of them ever had a 
fashionable mother. They nearly all sprang from women 
who had as little to do with fashion as with the changing 
of clouds. 

Fashion is sensuous, and so is doomed to an endless 
search of new stimulants, which leads to weariness and 
satiation, as these do to callousness and cynicism. A sex- 
agenary of fashion is, from inherent sequence, hard and 
blase. His best years have been sucked of their sweet- 
est juices by the petulant fevers of levity and ostenta- 
tion ; the ingots of his manhood he has beaten into shal- 
low gilding and fantastic trinkets. His look into old age 
is like that of the traveler, who, with his back to the 
green and growing fields, peers over a precipice into an 
extinct volcano ; except that the traveler can turn around 
to enjoy again the freshness and flavor, while he has for- 
feited such liberty. 

We laugh heartily to see a whole flock of sheep jump 
because one did so ; but the multitude make themselves 
equally ridiculous by slavishly following every new fash- 
ion, and by doing just as the leaders of fashion do. 

Emerson says an Englishman of fashion is like one of 
those souvenirs, bound in gold vellum, enriched with 
delicate engravings, on thick, hct pressed paper, fit for 
the hands of ladies and princes, but nothing in it worth 
reading or remembering. 



FASHION. 299 

Fashion does not often caress the great, but the chil- 
dren of the great ; it is a hall of the Past. It usually 
sets its face against the great of this hour. 

To be a woman of fashion is one of the easiest things 
in the world. A late writer thus describes it : Buy 
everything you don't want, and pay for nothing you get; 
smile on all mankind but your husband, be happy every- 
where but at home ; neglect your children and nurse lap 
dogs ; go to church every time you get a new dress. 

To dress, to visit, to gossip, and to thrum the piano, 
are the chief employments of the modern belle. 

She winks, and giggles, and simpers, 
And simpers, and giggles, and winks ; 

And though she talks but little, 
'Tis a great deal more than she thinks. 

— Stark. 

Ladies of fashion starve their happiness to feed their 
vanity, and their love to feed their pride. 

Modern education too often covers the fingers with 
rings, and at the same time cuts the sinews at the wrists. 

Fashion is a good friend but a bad master. 

It is lost labor, says Queensel, to consult the tastes of 
the world. They will never approve of our conduct 
unless we approve of theirs. 

Pride, Poverty, and Fashion, once undertook to keep 
house together. 

The three great conquerors of the world are Fashion, 
Love and Death. / 

There is one fashion that never changes. The spark- 
ling eye, the coral lip, the rose leaf blushing on the 
cheek, the elastic step, are always in fashion. Health — 
rosy, bouncing, gladsome health — is never out of fash- 
ion; what pilgrimages are made, what prayers are uttered 
for its possession ! Failing in the pursuit what treas- 
ures are lavished in concealing its loss or counterfeiting 
its charms ! 

A woman has no right to compress her vital organs 
with stays, or prison her vitals under masses of whale- 
bone and cotton, which may give a finer appearance of 
development to the bust, but are a positive injury to the 
health. 



DRESS. 

We do not regard the love of dress in women, as any- 
thing very offensive, or wrong. It has been made a 
subject for satire and ridicule, and with very little cause. 

The organization of woman fits her for indoor labors, 
as that of man for labors in the field, in the workshop, 
or on the sea; and with the organization, Providence has 
mercifully joined a taste which makes the labor a pleas- 
ure. The labor of the farmer is not all toil ; there is 
enjoyment in the physical exertion, and independent of 
any profit, enjoyment in the increasing beauty and fer- 
tility of his lands. A woman is employed year after 
year in household labors, in the care of children, and in 
providing clothing for her family. Suppose that this 
were all merely a work of necessity, that she took no 
interest in the appearance of her children, had no taste 
for dress, and no regard for the look of her home, — what 
a wretched life hers would be! Providence is wiser and 
better than we are. By giving her those general ten- 
dencies of taste which enable her to enjoy the employ- 
ments by which she must be occupied, He has scattered 
sunshine and flowers along the otherwise hard and dreary 
path she must travel. The taste may be indulged to 
excess and become a passion, but the possibility of this 
is no objection to the original tendency. The use is 
none the less, because the abuse is bad. 

u But a taste for dress is frivolous." We see not why 
it is more so than a taste for handsome houses, or a well- 
ordered garden, or neatly cultivated fields. The wants 
which these supply are not more important than those 
supplied by dress. There may be as much vanity about 
trees and gardens, about horses and sheep and dwellings, 
as about clothing. We suppose that the preparation of 
the dress of a family, furnishes a good discipline for the 
temper and character. It certainly is a perpetual disci- 
pline for the sense of the beautiful. Dress, to a woman 
of taste, is as much one of the fine arts, as painting. 



DRESS. 301 

"But she dresses to secure a frivolous admiration." 
It is a cruel injustice. Most women are anxious about 
dress, because they see it pleases brothers or sisters, hus- 
bands or parents. We should think but poorly of a 
young woman who had so got over these affectionate in- 
stincts of her sex, had so risen above the natural love of 
graceful forms and tasteful arrangements, as to care noth- 
ing about her personal appearance. Instead of being 
shocked by a well dressed woman, we confess that we 
have not thought it altogether an unlovely spectacle. It is 
an exhibition of neatness, good sense and a taste for the 
beautiful, which we bear with great composure. 

No doubt too much attention is given to dress, or rather 
it is too much a matter of imitative fashion, and too little 
a matter of personal taste. In many cases, it is doubt- 
less connected with frivolity and selfishness, but no more 
so than most other interests. Moreover, we see not why 
the making of a garment is not as intellectual an employ- 
ment, and is not as important to domestic happiness, and 
does not furnish as good a school for taste and temper as 
the traffic of the merchant, the arrangements of the law- 
yer, or the labors of the mechanic. 

For ourselves, we never see a mother endeavoring to 
array a child in a becoming garb without being touched 
by it. Her child is to her the most beautiful object in 
nature. She delights to have all things beautiful around 
it. It is the light of her eyes; and this enjoyment is a 
compensation appointed by Providence for the wearing 
and exhausting cares w T hich eat away her strength and 
mar her beauty. We think quite as well of the taste 
cultivated in dress, as of that which, growing outside of 
the ordinary round of household life, seeks its gratifica- 
tion in any of the other fine arts. 

We have but one woidmore. Where it is a real taste 
in dress, and not subserviency to fashion, or selfish crav- 
ing for display, a woman will show it as much at home, 
with her own family, as when abroad in company. She 
will not dress in the same way ; but in her simplest attire, 
every one who sees her will recognize a prevailing sense 
of the beautiful. Though shut up in her chamber alone, 



302 DRESS. 

it will still appear, because even when alone, she cannot 
endure to have around her what offends her refinement 
and sense of the beautiful. And this delicacy of taste 
which appears in dress, in manners and in the ordering 
of her household, will make a poor dwelling attractive 
and cheap materials ornamental, and in the orderly habits 
it implies, will have much to do with the culture and 
happiness of all beneath her roof. 

We once heard a mother say to her little girl, " You 
shouldn't mind your dress. It doesn't matter how you 
look, if you only behave well." This mistaken woman 
may have thought it would make no difference if all the 
trees were Solferino, and were ugly in form, instead of 
beautiful, provided they gave as cool a shade, and were 
just as good for the lumber business. If we observe 
nature closely, we shall see that, with her, the purpose 
of dress are use and beauty ; and that what she clothes, 
she dresses to perfection. The horse has his thick far 
coat for winter, and his silken one for summer. The gay 
plumage of the birds protects them from the pelting 
storm, and delights the eye of the beholder. And the 
earth wears, now a mantle of snow, to shield her from the 
piercing cold ; and now, her robe of green, besprinkled 
with flowers. Then she is lovely. Then her children 
rejoice in her beauty as if it were her own. 

Dress affects our manners. A man who is badly dressed 
feels chilly, sweaty, and prickly. He stammers, and 
does not always tell the truth. He means to, perhaps, 
but he can't. He is half distracted about his pantaloons, 
which are much too short, and are constantly hitching 
up ; or his frayed jacket and crumpled linen narrow his 
soul, and quite unmans him. He treads on the train of 
a lady's dress, and says " Thank you," sits down on his 
hat, and wishes the "desert were his dwelling place." 

An ill dressed woman suffers torments. 

To advise a young lady to dress herself with any 
serious eccentricity from the prevailing fashion of 
her day and class, is to advise her to incur a penalty 
which may very probably be the wreck of her whole 
life's happiness. A girl begins, perhaps, with some 



DRESS. 303 

moderate and really rational piece of originality ; but it 
makes her look " odd." She is less welcome in the draw- 
ing-room of her friends, and less comfortable when she is 
there. Men sneer at her, and persons allow coarse jokes 
at her expense. Women are so busy defending her little 
eccentricity, that they have no time left to estimate her 
positive merits. She is like Gibson's tinted Yenus. 
Every stupid spectator criticises the tint, not one in a 
thousand thinks at all of the loveliness of the statue. 
By-and-by the eccentricities of our friend are a little ex- 
ercised. She cannot abandon them without a vast 
humiliation and confession that she was wrong ; she is 
already singular, she may as well be wholly so. " In for 
a penny, in for a pound." Unless she is more than mortal 
she soon feels- a little isolated, and shrinks from society. 
Then she is annoyed in the street. The woman who 
stands this, and feels no cynicism growing up, and remains 
sweet, and good-humoured, and gentle, and tender 
through life under such circumstances, is very little short 
of a saint. She has secured for herself the conditions 
under which such virtues are most difficult, almost unat- 
tainable ; and for the sake of a more comfortable hat, a 
shorter skirt, or a stronger pair of boots. 

But it is only the fault of public opinion that any 
penalties at all follow innovations in themselves sensible 
and modest. To train this public opinion by degrees, to 
bear with more variations of costume, and especially to 
insist upon the the principle of fitness as the first requisite 
of beauty, should be the aim of all sensible women. Can 
anything be in worse taste than to wear clothes by which 
our natural movements are impeded, and our purposes, 
of whatever sort, thwarted by our own habiliments. It 
is, in the strictest sense, barbaric, like a Chinese woman's 
foot, to load ourselves with long, trailing skirts when we 
wish to take a brisk walk, or to run up and down stairs. 
To wear bonnets which give no shade to the eyes, under 
a summer sun, and need to be supplemented by the im- 
perfect aid of a parasol at every moment, is another 
fallacy of taste. Still worse is the folly of pinching the 
feet into thin, tight boots, which permit of fatal damp 



304 DRESS. 

and chill to the feet, and cramp the limb into a pitiful little 
wedge of flesh, with the distorted extremities crunched 
up under it. Not one modern European lady's foot in 
five hundred could be looked at if placed in an antique 
sandal. It is certainly a small aesthetic gain to lose the 
beauty of the human limb to improve the elegance of the 
shoemaker's manufacture. Worst of all, an evil for whicli 
no words can be found strong enough, is the evil of 
woman's stays. Why American and European women 
are tormented by these abominable machines, which the 
lithesome women of the East have never borne, it is hard 
to imagine. If we desire to find a type of woman's 
weakness, moral and physical, its causes and its effect, we 
could hit on no better emblem than a pair of stays. 

The true object and importance of taste in dress few 
understand. Let no woman suppose that any man can 
be really indifferent to her appearance. The instinct 
may be deadened in his mind by a slatternly, negligent 
mother, or by plain maiden sisters ; but she may be sure 
it is there, and, with little adroitness, capable of revival. 
Of course, the immediate effect of a well-chosen feminine 
toilet operates differently in different minds. In some, 
it causes a sense of actual pleasure ; in others, a conscious- 
ness of passive enjoyment. In some, it is intensely felt 
while it is present ; in others only missed when it is gone. 

Beauty in dress is a good thing, rail at it who may. 
But it is a lower beauty, for which a higher beauty should 
not be sacrificed. They love dress too much who give 
it their first thought, their best time, or .all their money ; 
who for it neglect the culture of mind or heart, or the 
claims of others on their service ; who care more for their 
dress than their disposition ; who are troubled more by 
an unfashionable bonnet than a neglected duty. 

The influence of costume is incalculable ; dress a boy 
as a man and he will at once change his own conception 
of himself. Yet dress does not make the man. We do 
not value a gem by what it is set in. A man in the finest 
suit of clothes is often a shabbier fellow than another 
dressed in rags. A seedy coat very often covers a heart 
in full bloom. " How do you feel, with such a shocking 



\ 



DRESS. 305 



looking coat on ? •' said a young clerk of some preten- 
sions one morning to old Roger. "I feel," said old 
Roger, looking at him with one eye half closed, as if 
taking aim at his victim— " I feel, young man, as if I 
had a coat on which I had paid for — a luxury of feeling 
which I think you will never experience." It has been 
said that he is a brave man who is not afraid to wear old 
clothes until he is able to pay for new ones. With dan- 
dies, the most unfashionable clothes are those that are paid 
for. Says Prentice, it is always a waste of raw material 
to put five dollars worth of beaver on ten cents worth of 
brains. Those who are incapable of shining but by dress, 
would do well to consider that the contrast between 
them and their clothes turns out much to their dis- 
advantage. 

An old sea captain used to say he didn't care how he 
dressed when abroad, "because nobody knew him." 
And he didn't care how he dressed when at home, be- 
cause everybody knew him. 

A man is first judged by his dress; afterwards by what 
he turns out to be. There is the story of the celebrated 
painter and poet, Buchin, who walking one day in very 
shabby clothes became more an object of derision than 
regard. He was mortified and went home, and ar- 
rayed himself in his best, and again walked out, to 
receive on every hand obsequious attention. His morti- 
fication turned to anger, and going home he threw his 
gold-laced coat on the floor, and, stamping on it, exclaim- 
ed: " Art thou Buchin, or am I !" 

Dress does not make the man, but makes him good 
looking ; or at least improves his looks. 

Garments of beauty may cover, but they can never im- 
part worth to abandoned character. 

The medium between a fop and a sloven is what a man 
of sense would endeavor to keep ; yet I remember Mr. 
Osborne advises his son to appear in his habit rather 
above than below his fortune ; and tells him that he will 
find a handsome suit of clothes always procures some ad- 
ditional respect. I have, indeed, myself observed that 
my banker ever bows lowest to me when I wear my full- 



306 DRESS. 

bottomed wig; and writes me "Mr." or " Esq." accord- 
ing as he sees me dressed. 

"When a stranger treats me with want of respect," 
said a poor philosopher, U I comfort myself with the 
reflection that it is not myself he slights, but my old and 
shabby hat and coat, which, to say the truth, have no 
particular claim to adoration. So, if my hat and coat 
choose to fret about it, let them; but it is nothing to me." 

Beauty gains little, and homeliness and deformity lose 
much, by gaudy attire. Lysander knew this was in part 
true, and refused the rich garments that the tyrant 
Dionysius proffered to his daughter, saying, u that they 
were fit only to make unhappy faces more remarkable." 

Women are more like flowers than we think. In their 
dress and adornment they express their natures, as the 
flowers in their petals and colors. Some women are like 
the modest daisies and violets — they never look or feel 
better than when dressed in a morning-wrapper. Others 
are not themselves unless they can flame out in gorgeous 
dyes, like the tulip or blush-rose. Who has not seen 
women just like white lillies? We know several double 
marigolds and poppies. There are women fit only for 
velvets, like the dahlias ; others are graceful and airy, 
like the azaleas. Now and then you see, hollyhocks and 
sun-flowers. When women are free to dress as they 
like, uncontrolled by others, and not limited by their 
circumstances, they do not fail to express their true 
characters, and dress becomes a form of expression very 
genuine and useful. 

The body is the shell of the soul, and the dress is the husk 
of the body ; but the husk generally tells what the kernel is. 

A vulgar taste is not to be disguised by gold or dia- 
monds. The absence of true taste and refinement or 
delicacy, cannot be compensated for by the possession of 
the most princely fortune. Mind measures gold. Gold 
cannot measure mind. Through dress the mind may be 
read, as through the delicious tissue of the lettered page. 

A modest woman will dress modestly. A really refined 
and intellectual woman will bear the marks of grace- 
ful selection and taste. 



DRESS. 307 

Man and woman in pure linen, in unstained apparel, 
in choice personal adornment, have a sense of dignity 
and elevation which those in slovenly garb do not ex- 
perience. And it is no particular sin if this sort of ele- 
vation is carried a little too far. Pride, of course, often 
enters into fine dressing, and many women, particularly, 
are fond of flaunting their fine feathers in people's eyes ; 
but a great majority love handsome dressing in obedience 
to an instinct of refinement — in consequence of that 
sense of personal purity which accompanies the wearing 
of choice apparel. 

Those who think that in order to dress well, it is neces- 
sary to dress extravagantly or gaudily, make a great 
mistake. Nothing so well becomes true feminine beauty 
as simplicity. We have seen many a remarkably fine 
person robbed of its true effect by being overdressed. 
Nothing is more unbecoming than overloading beauty. 
The stern simplicity of the classic tastes is seen in the 
old statues and in the pictures painted by men of superi- 
or artistic genius. In Athens, the ladies were not gaudily, 
but simply arrayed, and we doubt whether any ladies 
have ever excited more admiration. So also the noble 
old Roman matrons, whose superb forms were gazed on 
delightedly by men worthy of them, were always very 
plainly dressed. Fashion often presents the hues of the 
butterfly, but fashion is not a classic goddess. 

The overdressing of American ladies in the streets, at 
hotels, and in the churches, is a subject of general remark 
among the travelers from abroad, as well as sensible people 
at home. American women are slaves to dress; it is the 
bane of their life, ay, and of the male victims, too, 
whose lives are connected with theirs. Traveling trunks, 
almost as large as a small house, must be carried about, 
filled with all sorts of finery, for a summer jaunt to 
watering places, and for a winter visit to a city. The 
father or husband vainly remonstrates ; flounced dresses 
and crinoline must have ample space, and there must be 
a variety, too, in the costumes. "Heaven save the 
ladies, how they dress!" may well be exclaimed. Why 
will they not. become more practical? Does the most 



308 DRESS. 

fastidious critic of female beauty admire a young lady in 
full toilette more than in simple dress ? If beautiful there 
is no need of ornament ; if plain, she should appear with- 
out pretension. We have known ladies who have 
traveled through the continent of Europe, with only a 
small trunk to contain their wardrobe, and they found a 
wonderful relief in not having u too much to wear." 

As a fashionably dressed young lady passed some 
gentlemen the other day, one of them raised his hat, 
whereupon another, struck by the fine appearance of the 
lady, made some enquiries concerning her, and was 
answered thus: " She makes a pretty ornament in her 
father's house, but otherwise is of no use." 

A recent lady writer says : " You may be well dressed 
without great expense. The entire costume of the best 
dressed lady that we ever saw did not cost twenty -five 
dollars — she wore her own hair — she had not a puff, a 
frill, a bit of ribbon, or lace, a jewel or ornament of any 
kind about her, except a moss rose at her throat where 
her dainty little collar was fastened. Perhaps it is only 
fair to say that she was beautiful, and that we may have 
looked at her more than at her clothes. Be that as it 
may, from that day to this we have studied simplicity in 
dress, and we think it has done us good. 

A friend of ours, says the Portland Transcript, who 
had long been absent, returned recently, and called upon 
two beautiful young ladies of his acquaintance. One 
came quickly to greet him in the neat, yet not precise 
attire, in which she was performing her household duties. 
The other, after the lapse of half an hour, made her 
stately entrance, in all the primness of starch and 
ribbons, with which, on the announcement of his entrance, 
she had hastened to bedeck herself. Our friend, who 
had long been hesitating on his choice between the two, 
now hesitated no longer. The cordiality with which the 
first hastened to greet him, and the charming careless- 
ness of her attire, entirely won his heart. She is now 
his wife. Young ladies, take warning from the above, and 
never refuse to see a friend because you have on a wash 
gown. Be assured the true gentleman will not think 



DRESS. 309 

less of you because he finds you in the performance 
of your duties, and not ashamed to let it be known. 
Besides, there may positively be a grace, a witching 
wildness about an every day dress, that adds to every 
charm of face and feature. Old Merrick expresses this 
" delight in disorder," far better than we can : 

"A sweet disorder in the dress, 

A happy kind of carelessness ; 

A lawn upon the shoulders thrown, 

Into a line distraciion ; 

An erring lace, which here and there 

Enthrals the crimson stomacher, 

A cuff neglectful and thereby 

Ribands that now confusedly ; 

A winning wave, deserving note, 

In the tempestuous petticoat ; 

A careless shoe string, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility — 

Do more bewitch me than where art 

Is too precise in every part." 

In dress and manner, the late Mrs. Seward, wife of the 
Secretary of State, is described as simple and unos- 
tentatious to singularity. A smart mechanic's wife would 
not have exchanged wardrobes with her, and her 
milliner's apprentice looked at her in pitying wonder for 
her lost opportunities. And Mrs. Seward was regarded 
as one of the excellent of the earth, a woman of wonder- 
ful intellectual power and great breadth of attainment — 
the companion, confidant, counselor of her husband — one 
who read his written speeches before the printer saw 
them, and. gave an opinion which he valued more than 
any other — one who read and digested long, tiresome 
documents, and gave him the substance in a few moments 
fireside chat, thus contributing largely to that fund of 
information which distinguished Mr. Seward. She was 
his " higher law" adviser, and whenever his policy fell 
below that standard, he had differed with her in opinion. 
She ever regarded the right as the expedient ; or, in other 
words, aimed always to walk in the narrow path straight 
toward u the mark for the prize of the high calling which 
is in Christ Jesus, our Lord." 



DRESS AT CHURCH. 

Harper's Bazaar is certainly not very Puritanic on 
questions of dress. Perhaps the good people who are 
more under bondage to fine dressing than they suppose, 
will like its opinion on this subject of dressing for church: 

" The best bred people of every Christian country but 
our own avoid all personal display when engaged in wor- 
ship and prayer. Our churches, on the contrary, are 
made places for the exhibition of fine apparel and other 
costly and flaunting compliances with fashion, by those 
who boast of superior wealth and manners. We shall 
leave our gewgawed devotees to reconcile humiliation in 
worship with vanity in dress. That is a problem which 
we confess we have neither the right nor the capacity to 
solve. How far fine clothes may affect the personal 
piety of the devotees we do not pretend to even conjec- 
ture ; but we have a very decided opinion in regard to 
their influence upon the religion of others. The fact is, 
that our churches are so fluttering with birds of fine 
feathers that no sorry fowl will venture in. It is impossi- 
ble for poverty in rags and patches, or even in decent 
but humble costume, to take its seat, if it should be so 
fortunate as to find a place, by the side of wealth in 
brocade and broadcloth. The poor are so awed by tht 
pretension of superior dress and " the proud man's con- 
tumely," that they naturally avoid too close a proximity 
to them. The church being the only place on this side 
of the grave designed for the rich and the poor to meet 
together in equal prostration before God, it certainly 
should always be kept free for this common humilia- 
tion and brotherhood. It is so in most of the churches in 
Europe, where the beggar in rags and wretchedness 
and the wealthiest and most eminent, whose appropriate 
sobriety of dress leaves them without mark of external 
distinction, kneel down together, equalized by a common 
humiliation before the only Supreme Being. The adop- 
tion of a more simple attire for church on the part of 

310 



WEARING MOURNING. 311 

the rich in this country would have the effect, certainty 
not of diminishing their own personal piety, but probably 
of increasing the disposition for religious observance on 
the part of the poor. 

We cannot comprehend how a deep spiritual yearning, 
an earnest hearty devotion, can co-ordinate with the 
gaudy plumage of the peacock or the conspicuous exhibi- 
tion of flashing jewels. Tasteful attire, suited to the 
wearer's personate, is not out of place anywhere ; for that 
which is truly tasteful cannot but be acceptable to all. 

The following are given as good reasons for dressing 
plain on the Lord's day : 

1. It would lessen the burdens of many who find it 
hard to maintain their place in society. 

2. It would lessen the force of the temptations 
which often lead men to barter honor and honesty for 
display. 

3. If there was less strife in dress at church, people in 
moderate circumstances would be more inclined to 
attend. 

4. Universal moderation in dress at church would im- 
prove the worship by the removal of many wandering 
thoughts. 

5. It would enable all classes of people to attend 
church better in unfavorable weather. 

6. It would lessen, on the part of the rich, the tempta- 
tion to vanity. 

7. It would lessen, on the part of the poor, the tempta- 
tion to be envious and malicious. 

8. It would save valuable time on the Sabbath. 

9. It would relieve our means for a serious pressure, 
and thus enable us to do more for good enterprise. 



WEARING MOURNING. 

We long for the day when this custom shall be obso- 
lete. It is unbecoming the truly afflicted one. The 
wearer says by the black garment, "T have lost a dear 



312 WEARING MOURNING. 

friend. I am in deep sorrow." But true grief does not 
wish to parade itself before the eye of the stranger ; 
much less does it assert its extent. The stricken one 
naturally goes apart from the world to pour out the tears. 
Real affliction seeks privacy. It is no respect to the de- 
parted friend to say we are in sorrow. If we have real 
grief it will be discovered. 

When God has entered a household in the awful 
chastisement of death, it is time for religious meditation 
and communion with God on the part of the survivors. 
How sadly out of place, then, are the milliner and dress- 
maker, the tying on of dresses and the trimming of 
bonnets. There is something profane in exciting the 
vanity of a young girl by fitting a waist or trying on a hat, 
when the corpse of a father is lying in an adjoining room. 
It is a sacrilege to drag the widow forth from grief to be 
fitted for a gown, or to select a veil. It is often terribly 
oppressive to the poor. The widow left desolate, with 
half a dozen little children, the family means already re- 
duced by the long sickness of the father, must draw on 
her scanty purse to pay for a new wardrobe for herself 
and children, throwing away the goodly stock of gar- 
ments already prepared, when she likely knows not 
where she is to get bread for her little ones. Truly 
may fashion be called a tyrant, when it robs a widow 
of her last dollar, Surely your sorrow will not be ques- 
tioned, even if you should not call in the milliner to help 
display it. Do not in your afflictions help on a custom 
which will turn the afflictions of your poorer neighbors 
to deeper poverty, as well as sorrow. 

Mme. Demorest, in her new book, the Dressmaker, in 
: speaking of the French, says : "I believe they never wear 
crape at all, and I cannot see how any one, living or 
dead, is the worse for it. In hot weather, to condemn 
mourners to the use of black cloth is a mild form of suttee, 
.and should in common charity be abolished." 

It was the rule at the Court of the Byzantine Empire 
from the foundation of Constantinople by Constantine the 
Great, when the father, mother, wife, son, or grandson 
of the emperor died, while they were reigning, for the 



ABOUT JEWELRY. 313 

sovereign to be clothed in white garments for as long a 
period as he considered proper; afterwards to change 
them for plain yellow ; then for yellow embroidered with 
gold and precious stones, edged with trimmings of 
purple; and then to resume his usual imperial costume. 
During the period of the emperor's white mourning, every 
one of his subjects, from the highest to the lowest, had 
to wear black ; and during the yellow mourning the near 
relatives of the dead had to be attired in black for forty 
days, even in the presence of the emperor ; afterwards in 
blue, until he went out of mourning, when theirs also 
expired. 



ABOUT JEWELRY. 

" Like a jewel in an Ethiop's ear." 

That is just where it belongs. The love of jewelry 
is barbaric. In savage countries, where gold or pearls, 
feathers or shells, and that " kind of motley" is your 
only wear, ornaments in the absence of all other dress, are 
the sole evidences of rank and consequence. In such a 
state, the ear-ring and the nose-ring, the chains, the hoops, 
the trinkets, trapping and other gauds, are most probably 
genuine. Paste, perfumery and imposture are the later 
products of civilization, and belong to the march of in- 
tellect and the progress of the race. Mankind have 
already reached a stage of improvement, when it be- 
comes an important question, — whether jewelry has not 
exhausted its usefulness, and seen its best days. Can it 
do anything more for men and women ? Having risen 
with the rich and great, and perhaps helped them up to 
their present height of refinement, are now these costly 
gems to fall off soon, and sink down among the unintel- 
lectual, barbarous people whence they sprang ? 

Diamonds and pearls ; gold and sapphires ; emeralds 
and carbuncles, and the whole family of gems, have run 
their race, and become as obsolete and useless as hour- 



314 ABOUT JEWELRY. 



glassed and clepsydras. They all have alike ceased to 
indicate anything, even the poor merit of being rich. 
The gold watch astonishes no more ; it may be only a 
Peter Funk. Who can tell whether that yellow cable 
dangling from the waiscoat is a genuine Californian ? Is 
that gooseberry -looking thing in the bosom areal emerald? 
Or that glistening bauble, a brilliant or bastard ? Time 
was when these various appendages were diplomas of the 
condition of the wearer. But now, instead of determining 
the character of the craft by the flag flying in the rigging, 
the process is reversed. The face, and hands, and air of 
the individual are to be carefully scrutinized ; his conver- 
sation, if possible, listened to ; when his words are duly 
weighed, and his manners duly noted, then, and not be- 
fore, is the ring upon his finger pronounced a sapphire, 
or a sham ; and the immense chain he patiently lugs about 
determined to be pure deception or pure dust. 

What is the use now of all this savage refinery ? It 
certifies nothing — except it is the silliness of the person 
who thinks it does. If we know beforehand that the 
wearer is a nabob, we conclude the yellow glitter is a 
topaz, and not glass. But we do not then want the in- 
formation ; if it is not an interpreter it is nothing. How 
ridiculous are all cheating imitations of gold and precious 
stones ! They are nothing till their character is ascer- 
tained. When that is done they are worse than nothing 
— deceiving nobody, but disgusting every man of sense ; 
not useless simply, but ridiculous. Let oysters wear 
pearls, and toads carry gems, as they have been 
feigned to do, in their heads ; the jewel reputation is the 
only one worth a real man's care. So universal has the 
taste for finery become, that a plain dress is now a badge 
of distinction. 

The best dressed men wear the least jev/elry. Of all 
things avoid showy chains, large rings, and gewgaw pins 
and broaches. All these things should be left to Negroes, 
Indians and South Sea Islanders. 

We have seen young ladies so radiant with the splendors 
of rings, pins and beads, that they might almost be mis- 
taken for the daughters of savages. We have been 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 315 

tempted to wish that they might have one other piece 
of jewelry — the fabulous ring of Gyges, which is said 
to have rendered the wearer invisible. 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 

Extravagance in living is rapidly becoming > the beset- 
ting sin of all our large cities. In fact, it is getting to 
be one of our national characteristics, and even foreigners 
who visit us, and who are familiar with the luxurious 
habits of the upper classes of European society, are as- 
tonished at the recklessness with which Americans now- 
a-days spend their money. 

In this respect, things are different with us from what 
they -were in former times. The days of republican sim- 
plicity and frugality, when our fathers were content with 
the gains cf legitimate business, and honesty among the 

Do • J O 

commercial classes was the rule rather than the exception. 
having given place to an era of fast living, as well as ac- 
quiring wealth. But the great trouble with us is. that 
the personal and family expenses of a large portion of 
our b asiness men, during the last few years, have increased 
much faster in proportion than their means of indulgence. 

Formerly, the partners of every well-to-do mercantile 
firm were in the habit of allowing a-large portion of their 
annual profits to be reinvested as additional capital in 
their business, and of living plainly and economically 
upon the balance until able to retire upon a competency. 
Now, every young man, as soon as he becomes estab- 
lished in business, in order to secure his entre into society, 
must affect a princely style of living, which compels him 
to spend all his income, and sometimes to encroach upon 
his capital. 

It is a notorious fact, since the close of the war, with 
the great falling off in business profits consequent upon 
the general shrinkage of value, a great many merchants 
and manufacturers have been living beyond their in- 
comes. They, know very well if they continue to go on 



316 EXTRAVAGANCE. 

in this way they will soon have ruin and bankruptcy 
staring them in the face. But they prefer to run the 
risk, and trust to better times, or in some lucky stroke 
of speculation to retrieve their fortunes, rather than re- 
trench. They are men of the world, courting popularity 
and influence, whose wives and daughters move in the 
charmed circle of fashionable society, and they cannot 
bear to give up any portion, however trifling, of their 
outward display of opulence, for fear of losing caste. 

The private dwellings of our citizens become every year 
more spacious, more lofty and of more ambitious arch- 
itecture. Distant quarries are exhausted to supply ma- 
terials, and the skill of our architects fatigued to furnish 
imposing plans and to vary the ornaments of the exterior. 
Within, the inmates tread on the choicest carpets woven 
in the looms of Brussels and Turkey; and windows are 
curtained with the costliest and most exquisite tissues; 
the walls are hidden with immense mirrors ; the chimney 
pieces are of the finest marble of Italy or Egypt, and 
wrought into the most elaborate carvings. Veins of 
water are conducted to the uppermost stories to supply 
the baths, and streams of gas leading to every apartment, 
break out into jets of white flame at the will of the 
inmates. The sofas, the chairs, the couches, the tables, 
are of the latest Paris patterns, and when they have lost 
their first lustre, or have ceased to be the fashion of the 
day, they are sent to the auctions for sale. 

Luxury and self-indulgence are unfavorable to the 
physical and intellectual and moral strength of a people. 
Such indulgence tends to effeminacy. If New York be- 
comes Paris, and our country like France, we shall fall 
an easy prey to the first giant who lays his hand upon us. 

Hon. John A. Dix, in a recent lecture before the His- 
torical Society, made the following just remarks : "Noth- 
ing can be more unwise than the erection of costly dwell- 
ings, which can only be maintained by princely fortunes. 
At the death of the head of a family, and a division of 
the ancestral property, no one of the children, as a gen- 
eral rule, has enough to support the establishment, and 
it passes into other hands. Nothing can be more cruel 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 317 

than to bring ftp children with expectations which cannot 
be fulfilled, and with habits of life which they are com- 
pelled to abandon. The parent, for the sake of a few 
years of ostentation, invests a large portion of his estate 
in a splendid dwelling, with the certainty that his death 
will be the signal for the expulsion of his children from 
it. Nothing can be more inconsiderate, if it is done with- 
out reflection, or more unfeeling, if it is done with a full 
view of the inevitable consequences. Look for the splen- 
did mansions of thirty years ago, and see what has be- 
come of them. Scarcely one remains in the family by 
which it was constructed. They are boarding-houses, 
places of public exhibition, or the workshops of fashion. ,T 

To dress according to one's means, to wear out old 
clothes, not to change the coat and hat as frequently as 
the fashion changes, to refrain from too much pleasure 
riding for want of means to pay, to deny one's self luxu- 
ries which may well be dispensed with, to withhold bor- 
rowed money from various objects of charity — in fine to 
practice a decent economy, pay one's honest debts, and 
save a small pittance for a rainy day — this is meanness, 
littleness, in the opinion of the extreme fashionable 
world. 

The extravagance of the American people is often com- 
mented upon in this country and in France. In the lux- 
uries of living I am satisfied no people surpass the masses 
of the United States, and there can be no question but 
that this often runs into prodigality in the use of money. 
In the higher circles and among the nobility of the Old 
World there is every enjoyment which wealth can pur- 
chase, but the great middle class and the poor do not 
compare with our own in the elegancies and comforts of 
life. Probably no nation so generally wear costly silks, 
satins and other fabrics to the extent which is seen in the 
United States; and a Kidderminster carpet manufacturer 
recently stated to the writer that ^V m erica used more val- 
uable articles in that branch than any other people, and 
the most extensive orders for pattern carpets, woven to 
fit the rooms, were from that country. He also states 
that Boston surpassed all other American markets in the 



318 EXTRAVAGANCE. 

demand for these expensive fabrics. In America a family 
is thought poor indeed which has no carpet on the floor, 
and most of our readers would have been impressed with 
the difference if they had walked with me a few days 
since through the streets of Kidderminster, and looked 
into the rooms of the poorer people, whose doors open 
on a level with the street into the apartments where they 
live. Most of these, almost under the shadow of the 
great factories from which our people get their carpets, 
were not only uncarpeted, but the floors were of brick 
or tile, which had been used for scores or hundreds of 
years. One shudders at the sight of such homes, and 
wonders that the inmates are not chilled to death in the 
cold, damp winter. Most of the floors of the cathedrals 
and churches are of the same material, and bespeak but 
little of the comfort and neatness of the better class of 
churches in the United States. 

In every portion of Europe, Americans have the name of 
being the most extravagant people in the world. British 
opulence and Russian magnificence have palled in the 
presence of republican grandeur. Every great continen- 
tal city has some incident to relate which illustrates Am- 
erican lavishness. An incident was recently mentioned 
in a lace house in Paris, which has become historical. 
The proprietor called attention to a photograph hung on 
his wall. He remarked: "That is the picture of the 
memorable lace purchase by Kate Chase, daughter of 
Chief Justice Chase, and wife of Senator Sprague." It 
was understood to be the finest point lace ever made. 
The Queen of England and the Empress of France con- 
sidered it too expensive, but the wife of an American 
Senator did not hesitate to pay $18,000 in gold for six 
and a half yards. Of course, a woman of such artistic 
notions is immensely admired in Paris. The Western 
people, particularly Californians, are considered the most 
lavish in the use of their money. Two of the fairer sexes 
from San Francisco recently ordered eighty-five dresses. 
Even the agent, though an American, was astonished at 
such an order, but it was faithfully executed. With such 
evidence of American lavishness, it is not surprising that 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 319 

the Russians and the English have become secondary 
to the Americans in all the marts of fashion. 

No doubt there are extravagant women, but after all, 
as a class, American women are not extravagant, as a 
whole ; they are, in fact, the best of economists ; for they 
make small means go farther in their own expenses and 
in their households than any women in the world. That 
there are extravagant women as there are men, no one 
of course denies ; that there are some who live only to 
make a show and glitter, is true, but in comparison with 
the whole number of wives and mothers, and daughters, 
these are but very few indeed. They will make, more 
cheerfully and without complaint, more devoted sacrifices, 
for their husbands and children, than any other women. 
They bow with more dignity and grace to the loss of 
property, and bear up with more resolution and fortitude 
under adverse circumstances, than any other of their sex. 
There never has been exhibited in the world's history 
more and nobler heroism or greater self sacrifice than by 
the women of the United States during the late rebellion. 

Go up and down Broadway, through all the streets 
into all the cities and larger towns, and where you find 
one place fitted up for women to trade' and buy in, you 
will find ten saloons, restaurants, grog-shops, cigar stores, 
sample rooms, concert halls, and other places where men 
pay large sums in the aggregate for things which profit 
neither "body, mind nor "estate," but weaken the one, 
enervate the other, and waste the last. 

Those who live to the future must always appear selfish 
to those who live for the present. 

It is better to be laughed at than ruined ; better to have 
a wife who, like Marshall's Mamurra, cheapens every- 
thing and buys nothing, than to be impoverished by one 
whose vanity will purchase everything, but whose pride 
will cheapen nothing. 

The miser grows rich by seeming poor ; an extrava- 
gant man grows poor by seeming rich. 

To live above your station shows a proud heart, and 
to live under it, discovers a narrow soul. 

The art of living easily as to money, is to pitch your 



320 PRODIGALITY. 

scale of living one degree below your means. Comfort 
and enjoyment are more dependent upon easiness in the 
detail of expenditure than upon one degree's difference 
in the scale. 

He that accustoms himself to buy superfluities, may, 
ere long, be obliged to sell his necessaries. 

Luxurious living is the highway to poverty. 

Confine your expenses or they will confine you. 



PRODIGALITY. 

Covetous men need money least, yet they most affect 
it; but prodigals who need it most have the least regard 
for it. 

He that spares in everything is a niggard i and he that 
spares in nothing is profuse ; neither of which can be 
generous or liberal. 

It is as disagreable for a prodigal to keep an account 
of his senses, as it is for a sinner to examine his conscience ; 
the deeper they search, the worse they find themselves. 

A person who squanders away his fortune in rioting 
and profuseness, is neither just to himself or others; for, 
by a conduct of this kind, his superfluities flow in an 
irregular channel, and those that are the most unworthy 
are the greatest sharers in them, who do not fail to censure 
him when his substance is exhausted. 

The prodigal has as little charity as the miser. His 
flinty soul is not to be touched with any tenderness, 
humanity or commisseration ; neither poverty nor distress, 
innocence nor merit can melt him. That noble Bible 
truth, that there is more happiness in giving than in re- 
ceiving, he has never experienced. 

There is more money spent to be laughed at than for 
any one thing in the world, though the purchasers do not 
think so. 

Riches lavishly spent breed grief to our heart, sorrow 
to our friends, and misery to our heirs. 



IDLENESS. 321 

" 'Tis the last golden dollar, left shining aione ; 
All its brilliant companions are squandered and gone. 
No coin of its mintage reflects back its hue, 
They went in mint juleps, and this will go too ! 
I'll not keep thee thou lone one too long in suspense, 
Thy brothers were melted and melt thou to pence ! 
I'll ask for no quarter, I'll spend and not spare, 
Till my old tattered pockets hang centless and bare." 



IDLENESS. 

Everything within us and about us shows that it never 
was intended that man should be idle. One's own health 
and comfort, and the welfare and happiness of those 
around us, all require that man should labor. Mind, 
body, soul all alike suffer and rust out by idleness ; the 
idler is a source of mental and moral offense to everbody 
around. He is a nuisance in the world and needs abate- 
ment for the public good, like any other source of 
pestilence. 

We have received our earthly existence, not on 
conditions of our own prescribing, but on conditions 
prescribed by Him who made us. With respect to the 
present life, as well as the future one, it is to be expect- 
ed that the quality of the harvest will be the same as 
the seed. If we sow the seed of idleness and prodigality, 
we shall reap the tares of poverty and shame. There is 
no such thing as abolishing or bending, or evading the 
fixed laws of nature ; whether we like them or not, they 
will go steadily into effect. 

Thomas Carlyle has said, somewhere in his voluminous 
works, that the world has u one monster — the idle man." 
Who can doubt it ? Young man, are you an idler ? Are 
you consenting, under some pretext or other, to live on 
the earnings of others? Do you plead "bad health," 
while they are feebler than you ? Are you spending 
your hours in utter idleness, while even your mother and 
sisters are pricking their fingers with the needle, or 
skinning them at the wash-tub, to keep you in bread and 
butter, and hide your lazy carcass with decent clothes ? 
We have known some young men (?) as mean as this. 



322 IDLENESS, 

Arouse yourself, young man ! Shake off the wretched and 
disgraceful habits of the do-nothing, if you have been so 
unfortunate as to incur them, and go to work at once ! 
" But what shall I do ?" you perhaps ask. Anything, 
rather than continue in dependent, and enfeebling, and 
demoralizing idleness. If you can get nothing else to do, 
sweep the streets. But you are " ashamed" to do that. 
If so, your shame has been very slow in manifesting itself, 
seeing how long you have been acting, on life's great 
stage, the despicable parts of drone and loafer, without 
shame! 

Idler ! Take the foregoing home to yourself. Don't 
try to persuade yourself that the cap doesn't fit you. 
Honestly acknowledge its fitness. It will be a great 
point gained, to become honest with yourself. It will be 
a step forward — a step towards that justice to others 
which your present conduct absolutely ignores ! 

If you should see a man digging in a snow drift with 
the expectation of finding valuable ore, or planting seeds 
upon the rolling billows, you would say at once that he 
was beside himself. But in what respect does this man 
differ from you, while you sow the seeds of idleness and 
dissipation in your youth, and expect the fruits of age 
will be a good constitution, elevated affections and holy 
principles! If you desire a virtuous and happy life in 
youth you must shape your character by the Word of 
unerring Wisdom, and plant in your bosom the seeds of 
virtue. 

The idle man is an annoyance — a nuisance. He is of 
no benefit to anybody ; he is an intruder in the busy 
thoroughfare of every-day life ; he is of no advantage ; 
he annoys busy men, he makes them unhappy. He may 
have an income to support his idleness, or he may 
tc sponge" on his good-natured friends, but in either case 
he is despised. Young men do something in this busy, 
bustling, wide-awake world! Move about for the benefit 
of mankind, if not for yourself. Do not be idle. God's 
law is that by the sweat of our brow we shall earn our 
bread. 

If idleness does not produce vice or malevolence, it 



IDLENESS. 323 

commonly produces melancholy. Let every man be oc- 
cupied, and occupied in the highest employment of which 
his nature is capable, and die in the consciousness of 
having done his best. 

No greater foe to human health and happiness exists 
than idleness and its accompanying condition of ennui. 
What is more melancholy to see than idleness in youth, 
surfeit in the adult, and weariness, disease, and despair 
in old age. Whatever induces depression is as baneful 
to existence as the barnacles are to the ship on whose hull 
they collect. Firmness of will and a cheerful disposition 
are the two choicest dispositions one can inherit. The 
force of the will, by giving a high tone to the moral 
faculties of the soul, strengthens the principle of life, and 
enables both mind and body to resist all that is pernicious 
and hurtful to it. Fear or indecision, on the other hand, 
delivers it up helpless to the enemy. Energy in doing 
good is still more sustaining than even strength of will 
devoted to mere selfish ends. Kant used to say that most 
nervous disorders are due to idleness and mental inertia. 
Many conditions of debility, discomfort, distress and sick- 
ness arise, indeed, from mere fretful and cowardly giving 
way to corporeal sensations. The great French Revolu- 
tion roused many poor, sickly and languishing persons 
to health and activity. 

An idle body is a kind of monster in the creation. 
All nature is busy about him. How wretched it is to 
hear people complain that the day hangs heavy upon 
them ; that they do not know what to do with themselves. 
How monstrous are such expressions among creatures 
who can apply themselves to the duties of religion and 
meditation ; to the reading of useful books ; who may 
exercise themselves to the pursuit of knowledge and 
virtue, and every hour of their lives make themselves 
wiser and better than they were before. 

The idle should not be classed among the living ; they 
are a sort of dead men that can't be buried. 

The proud and haughty who are daily seen strolling 
up and down the street in idleness, who engage in no 
useful employment, nor honorable calling, but who live 



324 IDLENESS. 

as drones in society, supported by the legacies of their 
ancestors, are but little aware of their own insignificance 
and folly, the small esteem and utter contempt enter- 
tained towards them by the wise and better thinking, 
and of their own miserable enjoyments and false pleasure, 
when contrasted with the serene happiness and satisfac- 
tion of the liberal and open-hearted, who live not only to 
enjoy themselves, but to benefit their generation, orna- 
ment the world and honor their Creator. 

Man was never intended to be idle ; inactivity frustrates 
the very design of his creation ; whereas, an active life is 
the best guardian of virtue and the greatest preservation 
of health. 

Pity the man who has nothing to do. 

Idleness is the mother of more misery and crime than 
all other causes ever thought or di earned of by the pro- 
foundest thinker, or the wisest theorist. 

Idleness is the nursery of crime. It is that prolific 
germ of which all rank and poisonous vices are the fruits. 
It is the source of temptation. It is the field where 
"the enemy sows tares while men sleep." Could w r e 
trace the history of a large class of vices we should find 
that they generally originate from the want of some use 
ful employment, and are brought in to supply its place 

There are few who know how to be idle and innocent. 
By doing nothing we learn to do mischief. It is idleness 
that leads to vice. Idleness is the parent of vice. An 
idle brain is the devil's workshop. 

The Turks have a proverb that the devil tempts in- 
dustrious men, but idle men tempt the devil. 

Solon made idleness a crime ; and insisted that each 
citizen should give an account of the manner of getting 
his livelihood. 

Epaminondas, Prince of Thebes, had such a hatred to 
idleness, that upon finding one of his captains asleep in 
the day time, he slew him. For which act, being re- 
proved by his nobles, he replied : I left him as I found 
him ; comparing idle men to dead men. 

When Peisistratus, Tyrant of Athens, and the wisest of 
Grecian statesmen, was one, day walking through some 



IDLENESS. 325 

of his fields, several persons implored his charity. " If 
you want beasts to plow your land," said he, "I will lend 
you some ; if you want land, I will give you some ; if you 
want seed to sow your land, I will give you some ; but I 
will encourage none in idleness." By this conduct, in a 
short time, there was not a beggar in his dominions. 

"This we command you, that if any would not work, 
neither should he eat. 2 Thess. iii, 10. 

Bacon says that labor conquers all things, but idleness 
conquers more people than labor does. 

It is a Chinese maxim that for every man who does not 
work, and for every woman that is idle, somebody must 
suffer hunger or cold. 

Not one in twenty of the idle men have trades. This 
fact alone should teach parents the necessity of giving 
their sons a trade, which will in a measure make them 
independent. It seems to be a prevailing idea among 
our people that their sons should not soil their hands 
with dirty machinery, but should adopt the life of a clerk 
or book-keeper, which they deem more fashionable at 
least, if not more honorable. To learn to keep a set of 
books is of much importance if the knowledge be applied 
to his own -financial matters, but to depend upon it for a 
livelihood is very wrong. Our colleges are turning 
out ten book-keepers to one business man in the city 
every year, and all these business men have trustworthy, 
practical accountants, and there will be no vacancy then 
until some one of them dies or moves out of the city. 
So that dependance upon this profession is very slim. 
Better follow the old Turkish law and place your sons in 
a mill or foundry, where they can secure an independent 
trade ; a something that they can depend upon when the 
storm of adversity, which comes to the best of us, bursts 
upon him and in an instant sweeps his property 
from him. In an hour like that he can afford to smile, 
for while he has hands, he has locked away in his brains 
a mechanical genius which will creep out at the finger 
nails and earn bread for his little ones, and secure them 
the comforts of life. The man without a trade can only 
sit down after the storm is passed and mourn his loss, 



326 IDLENESS. 

and unless some kind friend offers him a seat in his 
office or a place behind his counter, he grows melancholy 
and dejected, goes down one step after another until he 
lands in a premature grave. No matter how much wealth 
you have to offer your sons when your life is done, teach 
them some handicraft, so that, should adversity come to 
them, they will not be dependent upon their friends for 
support. 

It is deceiving one's self to believe that it is only violent 
passions, like those of love and ambition, which are able 
to triumph over others. Slothfulness, as languishing as 
it is, permits none to be its mistress ; it usurps all the de- 
signs and all the actions of life. It destroys and con- 
sumes insensibly the passions and the virtues. 

More men grow old from having nothing to do, than 
from overwork. The running machine will keep bright 
for years — the idle machine will soon rust out. 

It is easy to be nobody, and we will tell you how to 
do it. Go to the drinking saloon to spend your leisure 
time. You need not drink much now ; just a little 
beer, or some other drink. In the meantime play 
dominoes, checkers, or something else to kill time, so 
that you will be sure not to read any useful book. If 
you read, let it be the dime novels of the day. Thus go 
on, keeping your stomach full and your head empty, and 
yourself playing time-killing games, and in a few years 
you will be nobody, unless (as is quite likely) you should 
turn out a drunkard or a professional gambler, either of 
which is worse than a nobody. There are any number of 
young men hanging about saloons, billiard-rooms and 
rum-shops just ready to graduate and be nobody. 

Hather do nothing to the purpose than be idle, that 
the devil may find thee doing. The bird that sits is easily 
shot, when fliers escape the fowler. Idleness is the dead 
sea that swallows all virtues, and the self-made sepulchre 
of a living man. The idle man is the devil's hireling, 
whose livery is rags, and whose diet and wages are 
famine and disease. 

If you will be nothing, just wait to be something. 
That man who waits for an opportunity to do much at 



IDLENESS. 327 

once may breathe out his life in idle wishes, and finally 
regret his useless intentions and barren zeal. A young 
man idle, an old man needy. 

Idleness travels very leisurely and poverty soon over- 
takes her. 

Poverty and pride are inconvenient companions; but 
when idleness unites them, the depth of wretchedness is 
complete. 

The idle levy a very heavy tax upon the industrious, 
when by frivolous visitations they rob them of their time. 
Such persons beg their daily happiness from door to door, 
as beggars their daily bread, and, like them, sometimes 
meet with a rebuff. . 

An idle man always thinks he has a right to feel af- 
fronted if a busy man does not devote to him just as 
much of his time as he has leisure to waste. 

Idleness destroys character; is the parent of future 
remorse ; the gate of all harms ; a fruitful cause of misery. 

Who does nothing, knows nothing. 

He is idle that might be better employed. 

The idle man is more perplexed what to do, than the 
industrious in doing what he ought. 

The only people who have a moment to spare are those 
who are never idle. 

Time never passes so slowly and tediously as to the 
idle and listless. The best cure for dullness is to keep 
busy. 

Idleness is like the nightmare — the moment you begin 
to stir yourself you shake it off. 

Idleness is hard work for those who are not used to it, 
and dull work for those who are. 

If the spendthrift's poverty be imbittered by remem- 
bering that he was once rich, how must the idler's ob- 
scurity be clouded by remembering that he once had 
lustre. 

To be idle and to be poor have always been re- 
proaches; and, therefore, every man endeavors with the 
utmost care to hide his poverty from others, and his idle- 
ness from himself. 

Only the idler or the coward rails against his fortune. 



328 INDOLENCE. 

The mind, like the body, wearies more from the want 
of action than from excess of it. 

Depend upon it, the most fatal idleness is that of the 
heart ; and the man who feels weary of life may be sure 
that he does not love his fellow-creatures as he ought. 

Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider her ways, and 
be wise. 

"Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?" 

— Shak. 

Lose this day loitering, 'twill be the same story 
To-morrow, and the next more dilatory. 
The indecision brings its own delays, 
And days are lost, lamenting o'er lost days. 



INDOLENCE. 

Excellence is providentially placed beyond the reach 
of indolence that success may be the reward of industry, 
and that idleness may be punished with obscurity and 
disgrace. 

Self-complacency begets indolence, a condition alike 
disastrous to nations and to individuals. Indolence, 
poverty ; poverty, misery. Indolence imparts vice ; 
vice leads to crimes, and crimes to the gallows. 

It is an error to believe that the vehement passions 
alone, like love or ambition, triumph over the rest. In- 
dolence, nerveless as it may be, is generally master of 
every other ; it steals dominion over every action of life, 
and stealthily paralyses alike all passions and all virtues. 

Indolence leaves the door of the soul unlocked and 
thieves and robbers go in and spoil it of its treasures. 

Sloth is slow suicide. 

A lazy boy makes a lazy man just as sure as a crooked 
sappling makes a crooked tree. Think of that, my little 
lads. Who ever saw a boy grow up in idleness that did 
not make a lazy, shiftless vagabond when he was old 
enough to be a man, though he was not a man in char- 
acter, unless he had a fortune left him to keep up ap- 
pearance? The great mass of thieves, paupers, and 



INDOLENCE. 329 

criminals have come to what they are by being brought 
up to do nothing useful. All those who are good men 
now, and useful to the community, were industrious when 
they were boys. If you do not like to work now, a love 
for industry can soon be acquired by habit. Look around 
at once for something to do, in doing which you can benefit 
somebody. Shun idleness as you would the evil one. 

Those who make our great and useful men were trained 
in their boyhood to be industrious. 

Laziness grows on people ; it begins in cobwebs and 
ends in iron chains. The more business a man has to do 
the more he is able to accomplish, for he learns to econ- 
omize his time. " I can't find bread for my family," said 
a lazy fellow in company. "Nor I," replied an indus- 
trious miller; "I am obliged to work for it." 

Laziness travels so slow that poverty soon overtakes it. 
If half the pains were taken by some people to perform 
the labor allotted them that are taken by them to avoid 
it, we should hear much less said about the troubles of 
life, and see much more actually completed. 

The Warden of the Massachusetts State Prison says : 
" Eight out of every ten come here by liquor, and a 
great curse is not learning a trade. Young men get the 
notion that it is not genteel to learn a trade ; they idle 
away their time, get into saloons, acquire the habit of drink- 
ing, and then gambling, and then they are ready for any 
crime." 

It is wonderful what people have been enabled to ac- 
complish who have labored under the greatest possible 
disadvantages. A very marked instance occurred in the 
city of Augsbourg, of a blind man who had acquired a 
competence, besides supporting a large family, by selling 
books. He was a man of great enterprise, and, by one 
means or another, managed to pick up considerable in- 
formation. His enjoyment of books naturally suggested 
the idea of dealing in them. His wife was a sensible 
woman, and quite indispensable to him in his business. 
His library consisted of eight thousand volumes, and were 
arranged so carefully that he could instantly turn to any 
volume called for. When a new lot of books came in, 



330 LEISURE. 

his 'wife read over to him all the particulars respecting 
them, and, after turning them carefully once in his hands, 
he was able to fix the price. His memory never fails 
him in regard to his shop arrangements. His manner is 
most civil and obliging, and to this, no doubt, he owes 
a large share of his extensive custom. He is also strictly 
honest, and very well informed in regard to books. In- 
telligent reading people delight to converse with him, 
and one friend is sure to make half a dozen others 
for him. So much a man may accomplish who was born 
blind, but who sought diligently to cultivate his mind, 
heart and manners. Surely no energetic young man 
with two stout arms and good eyes should be discouraged 
by a few difficulties in his way, and conclude he can 
never get on in the world. 

To be without arms seems more dreadful still. We 
can hardly imagine a more helpless condition. Yet John 
Hatter, who was born without arms, can sew with his 
toes, can write legibly, load and fire off a pistol, and do 
a great many other wonderful things with the greatest 
apparent ease. 

A lady who had lost the use of her hands learned to 
manage a paint brush with her lips, and executed many 
pretty paintings. 

Such instances should have their lesson for lazy people, 
who always see "a lion in the way" of their accomplishing 
anything. They should nerve the working bees in the 
great hive to still greater exertions, and should rebuke 
the spirit of sloth, whenever it endeavors to gain mastery 
over us. 



LEISURE. 

None but a wise man can employ leisure well, and he 
that makes the best use of his time hath none to spare. 

Leisure is time for doing something useful ; this the 
diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never ; so that 
a life of leisure and a life of laziness are two different 



LEISURE. 331 

things. No man who improves his leisure hours in useful 
reading and study, can fail of becoming distinguished 
and useful in his profession — while he who spends his 
time in idleness or self-indulgence, is sure to occupy an 
inferior position. 

It is not every one who thinks how wise he may be- 
come by learning only a little every day. Four hours a 
day during six months and two hours a day the balance 
of the year spent in reading and other means of self- 
culture, would amount to forty-five days a year. Ten 
years would be four hundred and fifty days — which 
would be equal to two good years at college. Is not 
this worth saving ? Is there not a fortune in this ? So 
cheap, too ! Money saved by it ! Manhood made by it! 
Respectability won by it ! Hundreds of young men will 
refer their future success or failure to the way they spent 
the evenings and leisure hours of the present winter. 
Industry is always attended with success and content- 
ment. Every farmer should provide his boys with plenty 
of good reading and a well fitted up work shop. 

The young abhor the last results of idleness, but they 
do not perceive that the first step leads to the last. They 
are in the opening of this career, but with them it is 
genteel leisure, not laziness; it is relaxation, not sloth; 
amusement, not indolence. But leisure, relaxation, and 
amusement, when you ought to be usefully employed, 
are indolence. 

Leisure is a very pleasant garment, but it is a very bad 
one for constant wear. 

Leisure is sweet to those who have earned it, but 
burdensome to those who get it for nothing. 

Some one has said: "If bread could be procured as 
easily as water, men would be more likely to become 
brutes for the want of something to do, than philosophers 
from the possession of leisure." 

Another writer says: "Whenever you see young 
men spending their leisure hours at some resort of gaming 
or some other amusement, it is a sure sign that they will 
never become great men." 



IGNORANCE. 

It is better to be poor than ignorant. It is dangerous 
to be ignorant where the masses, as in our country, are 
enlightened. In a general illumination, the unlighted 
windows are often pelted and broken. Says Victor 
Hugo, in Les Miserables, " destroy the cave Ignorance, 
and you destroy the mole, Crime." 

The truth of this axiom has been constantly demon- 
strated ever since the construction of this globe. The 
dark ages have been those when ignorance was more 
powerful than knowledge. The growth of invention, 
science and art has yearly added to the world's en- 
lightenment and deliverance from evil. In this great 
work of reformation, the Church, the Common School 
and the Printing Press have been the three great agencies 
which, hand in hand, have dispensed wisdom and 
virtue. Who would destroy or proscribe these, would, 
to a corresponding extent, inaugurate crime and degre- 
dation. These assertions need no proof ; they are self- 
evident facts to the student of human nature and of history. 

Sir Isaac Newton made a confession, which the young- 
might be excused for accepting as the voice of mock 
modesty, did not the rare truthfulness which history has 
ascribed to the discoverer of gravitation, forbid such a 
suspicion. We allude to his declaration, after the con- 
temporaneous world of science was content to own him 
as its teacher, that he felt as though he had only gathered 
a few pebbles on the shore, while the great ocean of 
knowledge lay outstretched before him! The experi- 
ence of the Newtons of the world, is the experience of 
all its searchers after knowledge. The young, with 
the mere " pebbles" which they have gathered from the 
rivulets of academical text-books and collegiate lectures, 
walk forth as self-confidently, not to say as vauntingly, 
as one would be entitled to do, who had dived to the 
depths of the very ocean, and brought up its hidden 
treasures. But the very first contact with the actual 

332 



IGNORANCE. 333 

world serves to dissipate the delusions of the ideal. By 
degrees they come to realize the difficulties before them, 
and to perceive that no school or college can furnish 
more than merely the beginning of knowledge. The 
older they grow, if they continue studying, the more 
deficient they feel themselves to be. When early man- 
hood, with its cares, is once upon them, the remembrance 
of early opportunities neglected will begin to accuse 
them. A semi-consciousness of how much neglect has 
cost them, will then steal upon them. The full sense of 
the utter pebbliness of their knowledge such as haunted 
the great astronomer, will be reserved for a still later 
experience. But they will be sure to realize it, sooner 
or later, in their lives. What a volume of hints, young 
man, is given to you by the confession of Newton. 

Ignorance and conceit are two of the worst qualities to 
combat. It is easier to dispute with a statesman than a 
blockhead. We can perhaps tolerate a man who has 
just ignorance enough to talk among fools, if he has 
discretion enough to be silent among men of sense. Yet 
of all ignorance, that which is silent is the least produc- 
tive, for praters may suggest an idea, if they cannot 
start one. It is impossible to make some people under- 
stand their* own ignorance, for it requires knowledge to 
perceive it ; therefore, he that can perceive it, hath it 
not. Some men do wisely to counterfeit reservedness, 
to keep their chest always locked — not for fear any one 
should steal treasures thence, but lest some one should 
look in and see that there is nothing to steal. Ignorant 
men are always in amaze. Wonder is the effect of ignor- 
ance. 

Those who know little see little. To the man who 
cannot read, this page is a blank. In exact proportion 
as our stock of information increases the sphere of our 
mental vision is enlarged. Knowledge furnishes eyes to 
our understanding, and endows them with clearness, 
precision and magnific power. To the ignorant man the 
stars are mere specks of light, rather more ornamental ho 
thinks, perhaps, than his tin lantern, but not half so use- 
ful as a guide to his footsteps through the night. To 



334 IGNORANCE. 

the astronomer they are worlds and congeries of worlds, 
moving through space in obedience to immutable laws, 
fulfilling in their shining march purposes at which even his 
educated intellect can only guess, and, seeing them with 
the eyes of science, he wonders and adores. Botany, 
chemistry, every branch of natural philosophy, gives us 
a deeper, truer insight into the mysteries by which we 
are surrounded. We cannot even understand our own 
mechanism without the aid of physical science. It has 
been said that the more men know, the more profound 
and general their knowledge — the more they are dis- 
posed to skepticism in religious matters. The assertion 
is false. Men of the deepest research are usually the 
firmest believers in revelation. There are and have been 
undevout philosophers, but the few exceptions do not 
militate against the rule. The greatest lights of modern 
learning and science have been sincere Christians. 

How many young ladies are there who would be 
mortified to the last degree, if a frill or a collar or other 
parts of their dress were displaced, but who, on being 
detected in ignorance, even in the history of their own 
country, would own it without a blush. 

If thou wilt be cured of thy ignorance confess it. Un- 
disguised ignorance is vastly more endurable than affected 
learning. It is sometimes quite enough for a man to 
feign ignorance of that which he knows, to gain the 
reputation of knowing that of which he is ignorant. 

Ignorance pays such a tax that we can't imagine how 
anybody can afford to be such a blockhead. 

Spring commands twice as much wages as his neighbor 
McCracken. A wide difference, and all caused by 
Spring's knowing how to read, write and cipher. Thus 
it will be seen that McCracken's want of knowledge costs 
him several hundred dollars a year — which shows that 
ignorance costs him as much as his wife and children, 
house rent inclusive. 

Ignorance takes to dirt as naturally as it does to ugli- 
ness. In proof of this, we would mention that a dealer 
in ashes informed us that the opening of a public school 
in a ward, increased the sale of soap twenty-five per 



IGNORANCE. 335 

cent. From this it must be seen that the more people 
read, the more they think ; and the more they think, the 
more frequently they indulge in wash basins and clean 
towels. 

Ignorance is a cause, and misery an effect, in all matters, 
in every phase and condition of life. Ignorance of 
any of nature's laws impels their non-observance, and the 
punishment surely follows. If a man puts his finger in 
the blaze, he will suffer pain from the burn he receives ; 
and, if he puts a fire-brand in his stomach, whether in 
the shape of inflammable food or drink, he will suffer for 
it. And this brings up a view of the temperance ques- 
tion, that has not received the attention it deserves. 
People have been so busy lopping off the branches of 
the tree of intemperance, that they have never once be- 
thought themselves that the proper way would be to cut 
off and dig up the roots. The world is too superficial, 
and superficiality is also born of ignorance. John Stuart 
Mill, the eminent English scholar, and one of the most 
advanced thinkers of the age, speaking of the temper- 
ance question, uses all the resources of his mind to ex- 
pose the utter folly of those who would make men 
virtuous by force and law. The true way, he argues, is 
to elevate the people to self-denial and moderation by 
improving their material conditions, and by a wise system 
of education. It is a well-known fact, that, after all the 
exertions for temperance that have been made by the 
various temperance organizations, and by philanthropists 
and reformers generally, the torrent of intemperance 
still rushes on with increasing volume, and there are more 
intoxicating liquors sold and drank in the United States 
to-day than at any former period. Hence it is evident 
that there is something radically wrong in our treatment 
of the evil, which has been and still is nothing but the 
merest quackery. Public opinion has laid the cause to 
the dram-shops. It would be more philosophical to say 
that intemperance — the desire to indulge in intoxicating 
drink — causes dram-shops to appear, to satisfy that desire, 
than that the dram-shops cause the intemperance. The 
principal cause of the desire for intoxicating drinks can 



336 IGNORANCE. 

be traced to what may be called the sensational in eat- 
ing. People are not satisfied with simple and wholesome 
food, cooked in a rational manner ; but must destroy its 
simplicity and healthfulness by minor stimulants, which 
demand greater. This creates what is called a thirst 
for intoxicating drinks, but which is in no sense a thirst, 
being rather the cry of the nervous system for its ac- 
customed stimulant. A gentleman who has visited 
several inebriate asylums says he has invariably observed 
that inebriates are large eaters, especially of animal food 
— that being more stimulating than vegetable food. 
Beef, too, was preferred to mutton and other kind, as being 
the most stimulating kind of animal food. And it was usu- 
ally, before being eaten, covered with mustard sufficient in 
quantity to blister the heel of the thickest-skinned African 
in creation if applied thereto. Almost everything that was 
eaten was made literally black with pepper, so much so that 
he once suggested to the steward that he should put the 
pepper on the table in bowls, with tablespoons in them, and 
let the patients ladle it out in that way ; for it took too long 
to get the required quantity from the ordinary style of pep- 
per-box with perforated lid. Coffee and tea of the strongest 
kind were drank in the largest quantities. And tobacco 
was used to excess. Everybody seemed to be smoking ; 
smoking continually. A physician attending the institu- 
tion said they literally " smoked tons of it." Mr. Parton, 
in his " Atlantic Monthly" article, " Will the Coming Man 
Drink Wine ?" asks, " How could we dispose of the 
enormous amount of food we consume on festive occasions 
without the aid of some stimulus to digestion?" As long 
as people gormandize and gluttonize themselves, their 
diseased stomachs will crave stimulants. Strong meats 
and mustard and pepper, with tobacco before dinner and 
after dinner, the first thing in the morning and the last 
thing at night, will create a demand for fiery liquors ; and 
between them all, the poor victim of ignorance is kept in 
a continual ferment and fever. And, while it may not be 
true that every one who eats inordinately, and of stimu- 
lating and highly-seasoned food is a drunkard, it is never- 
theless true, that, by this manner of living, such a person 
supplies necessary conditions for becoming a drunkard. 



TIMIDITY AND IRRESOLUTION. 337 

And that he does not become one is, perhaps, because of 
a high moral principle acting in conjunction with a great 
will-power to restrain his appetite for diffusible stimulants; 
for we hold that in such a case his appetite exists. Here 
is where a temperance movement, to be successful, must 
be begun. As people outgrow their ignorance, they will 
live more rationally, eat simpler food, discard all high 
seasoning, and the victory will soon be won. Temper- 
ance will become the rule, because there will be no de- 
mand nor appetite for intoxicating drinks. 



TIMIDITY AND IRRESOLUTION. 

Bashfulness is not a fault ; it is more a nervous affection 
than anything else. The over-bashful should mix more 
in society, and cultivate an indifference to outward symp- 
toms. Too great a distrust of one's self, produces a base 
fear; while it deprives our minds of their liberty and 
assurance, it makes our reasoning weak, our words tremb- 
ling, and our actions faint. By fearing to attempt some- 
thing, we will do nothing. A man is seldom suc- 
cessful that is diffident of himself. A timid man can 
never become great ; if he possesses talent, he cannot apply 
it ; he is trampled upon by the envious and awed by the 
swaggering, he is thrust from the direct path which leads 
to honor and fame, by every aspirant who possesses more 
spirit than himself. A great deal of talent is lost to the 
world for the want of a little courage. Every day sends 
to the grave a number of obscure men who have only 
remained in obscurity because their timidity has pre- 
vented them making the first effort — and who, if they 
could have been induced to begin, would, in all proba- 
bility, have gone great lengths in the career of fame. The 
fact is, in order to do anything in this world that is 
worth doing, we must not stand shivering on the brink 
and think of the cold and danger, but jump in and 
scramble as we can. It will not do to be perpetually 
calculating risks and adjusting nice chances. There is 

29 



338 TIMIDITY AND IRRESOLUTION. 

such little time for over-squeamishness at present, the 
opportunity so easily slips away, the very period of his 
life, at which man chooses to venture, if ever, is so con- 
fined, that it is no bad rule to preach up the necessity in 
such instances, of little violence done to feelings, and of 
efforts made in defiance of strict and sober calculation. 
Whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your 
might. 

Never allow yourself to pass for a mere man of silk. 
Let the world know you have some iron in you. It is 
the inherent vice of half-way men, as it is of half-way 
measures, that they create as many difficulties as they 
remove. The cowardly and inactive lie in the ditch 
where they fall, or under the ruins that crush them. 
But the hopeful and energetic are upon their feet again, 
moving once more toward the goal of success, and more 
cautiously than before. 

The "I cant's," says Hunt, in his "Morals for Mer- 
chants," are numerous and ubiquitous. You may know 
them everywhere, in the legislative halls, on the battle- 
field, in the council-chamber, at the bar, in the counting- 
house, in the studio, at the bench,' or in the furrow, for 
they are spawned everywhere; and among all classes of 
individuals — merchants or mechanics, you know " I 
'can't" — as well by what he does, as by what he will not 
try to do ; and a miserable, mumbling, mealy-mouthed, 
mountain raising and mole-hill moving mummy of a man, 
will you find him in any of these pursuits. He is always 
for delay. "He hasn't time, or he hasn't tools ; he lacks 
means, or he must have more help;" you "had better 
wait;" or he knows "it is impossible ;" anything rather 
than do it. " I'll try," never comes into his head, while 
to say " I can't," is the easiest, as well as the meanest 
method of accomplishing his desires. It may be safely 
assumed that neither Alfred nor Arkwright, Milton nor 
Maury, Washington nor Whitney, Girard nor Astor, nor 
any other among the glorious galaxy of determinate, in- 
dustrial stars, ever yet recognized the canting use to 
which the phrase is put by such as we describe. 

How many occasions for doing good, in greater or less 



DISCONTENT. 339 

measures, are passed by from irresolution ! . While we 
are saying to ourselves, shall I, or shall I not ? the moment 
flies away, and the blossom of joy which we might have 
given to it is withered and often cannot be revived by 
any tears of repentance. The irresolute man cannot per- 
form any action well. 

In matters of great concern, and which must be done, 
there is no surer argument of a weak mind than irresolu- 
tion, — to be undetermined where the case is so plain, and 
the necessity so urgent ; to be always intending to lead a 
life, but never to find a time to set about it. 



DISCONTENT. 

Some people are never contented with their lot, let 
what will happen. Clouds and darkness are over their 
heads, alike whether it rain or shine. To them every 
incident is an accident, a calamity. Even when they 
have their own way, they like it no better than your way, 
and, indeed, consider their most voluntary acts as matters 
of compulsion. We saw a striking illustration the other 
day of the infirmity we are speaking of, in the conduct 
of a child about three years old. He was crying because 
his mother had shut the parlor door. "Poor thing," said 
a neighbor compassionately, "you have shut the child 
out' 11 "It's all the same to him," replied the mother, 
" he would cry if I called -him in and then shut the door. 
It's a peculiarity of that boy, if he is left rather suddenly 
on either side of a door, he considers himself shut out, 
and rebels accordingly." There are older children who 
take the same view of things. 

Every man thinks his neighbor is happier than he is, 
but if he would change places with him he will want to 
trade back next morning. 

Nearly every one we meet wishes to be what he is not. 
The boy apes the man ; the man affects the ways of boy- 
hood. The sailor envies the landsman ; the landsman 
goes to sea for pleasure. The busines man who has to 



340 DISCONTENT. 

be continually traveling about to buy or sell goods 
wishes for the day when he can " settle down," whilst 
the sedentary man is always wanting a chance to flit 
about and to travel, which he thinks would be his great- 
est pleasure. Town people think the country glorious ; 
country folks are always wanting to come to town. No 
one is satisfied, no one is always contented ; and if we can 
pry into the secrets of those who preach the loudest about 
contentment, we will wonder at the amount of discontent 
that reigns in their bosoms. 

How universal it is ! We never yet saw the man who 
would say, "I am contented." Go where you will, 
among the rich or the poor, the man of competence or the 
man who earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, you 
hear the sound of muttering, the voice of complaint. 

The other day we stood by a cooper who was playing 
a merry tune with his adze round a case. "Ah! said 
he, "mine is a hard lot; forever trotting like a dog, 
driving a hoop." 

"Heigho!" sighed the blacksmith, on a hot summer 
day as he wiped the persperation from his brow, while 
the red hot iron glowed on the anvil, " This is life with a 
vengeance, melting and frying one's self over a fire." 

"Oh, that I was a carpenter!" ejaculated a shoemaker, 
as he bent over his lap-stone. "Here I am, day after 
day, wearing my soul away making soles for others, 
cooped up in this seven-by-nine room, — hi, ho, hum!" 

"I'm sick of this out-door work!" exclaimed the car- 
penter, "Boiling under the sweltering sun, or exposed 
to the inclemency of the weather, — I wish I was a tailor." 

"This is too bad!" perpetually cries the tailor, "to be 
compelled to sit perched up here plying the needle all 
the time. Would that mine were a more active life." 

"Last day of grace — banks won't discount, customers 
won't pay; what shall I do?" grumbled the merchant. 
"I had rather be a truck-horse, a dog, or anything else." 

"Happy fellows!" groans the lawyer, as he scratches 
his head over some dry musty record; "happy fellows! 
I'd rather hammer stone all day than puzzle my head on 
this tedious, vexatious question." 



DISCONTENT. 341 

And through all the ramifications of society all are 
complaining of their condition, finding fault with their 
particular calling. "If it were only this, or that, or the 
other, I should be content," is the universal cry — "any- 
thing but what I am." So wags the world, so has it 
wagged, and so will it wag. 

A fable has been told about an Egyptian who had a 
nice little garden of leeks; but he was discontented at 
having to toil for his daily bread. His good genius came 
to his aid, and made him owner of a villa, with two slaves 
to wait on him. 

He was delighted with the gift, and promised to crave 
nothing more. It was not long before he coveted the 
neighboring garden, with its statues and fountains. The 
garden was given him, and then he took a fancy to the 
meadow beyond. The meadow was granted him, and 
then he wanted the park on the further side of it. The 
park was bestowed on him, and then, like Ahab, he 
wanted to rob a poor man of his little vineyard! Open 
the door to one discontented wish, and you don't know 
how many will follow. 

The discontented man finds no easy chair. 

There is no one so liable to be angry with others as 
he who is ill at ease with himself. 

The chief source of human discontent is to be looked 
for, not in real, but in our fictitious wants ; not in the 
demands of nature, but in the artificial craving of desire. 

To be discontented, sit by a window and look over 
the way to your neighbor's excellent mansion, which he 
has recently built and paid for, and fitted out. " Oh, 
that I were a rich man." Get angry with your neighbor, 
and think you have not a friend in the world. Shed a 
tear or two, and take a walk in the burial ground, con- 
tinually saying to yourself: "When shall I be buried 
here?" Sign a note for a friend, and never forget your 
kindness, and every hour in the day whisper to yourself: 
" I wonder if he will ever pay that note?" Think every- 
body means to cheat you. Closely examine every bill 
you take, and doubt its being genuine until you have put 
your neighbor to a great deal of trouble. Put confi- 



342 DISCONTENT. 

dence in nobody, believe every man you trade with to be a 
rogue. Never accommodate if you can possibly help it. 
Never visit the sick or afflicted, and never give a cent to 
assist the poor. Buy as cheap as you can, and screw 
down to the lowest mill. Grind the faces and the hearts 
of the unfortunate. Brood over your misfortunes, your 
lack of talents, and believe that at no distant day you 
will come to want. Let the workhouse be e^er in your 
mind, with all the horrors of distress and poverty. Fol- 
low these recipes strictly, and you will be miserable to 
your heart's content — if we may so speak — sick at heart, 
and at variance with the world. Nothing will cheer or 
encourage you, nothing will throw a gleam of sunshine 
or ray of warmth into your heart. 

Discontent is a sin that is its own punishment, and 
makes men torment themselves. 

A gentleman of vast inherited property, being rather 
too well off to be contented, began to build factories 
on a great scale. Whereupon a friend remarked, u Ah! 
he is fast turning his dollars into mills." The event 
speedily proved that there was as much truth as wit in 
the remark. That there is much restlessness among the 
children of men will not be questioned by any individual. 
But does not this, in every instance arise from distrust of 
God ? Distrust begets fears, complaining and rebellion. 
Were your heart such as to lead you to cast all your cares 
upon God, how wonderful would be the relief? What 
heavenly calmness would possess your mind? How 
sweet would be your composure, how refreshing your 
rest ? Urge yourself onward then to this duty. Bring 
your spirits to this fountain. Here drink, and be satisfied. 
It is like rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of 
a great rock in a weary land. "Who is among you that 
feareth the Lord, and obeyeth the voice of his servant, 
that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? let him 
trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." 
This is the remedy for all disquietude, for every species 
of murmuring. These healing waters will remove every 
ruffling surge from the mind, and refresh the soul with 
joys unutterable and full of glory. 



DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

Difficulty of achievement stupefies the sluggard, ad- 
vises the prudent, terrifies the fearful, and animates the 
courageous. The greater the difficulty, the more glory 
in surmounting it. Skilful pilots gain their reputation 
from storms and tempests. Be determined that no trial 
shall overcome your patience, and no impediment con- 
quer your perseverence. The deeper the well, the cooler 
the water. The stoutest timber stands on Norwegian 
rocks, where tempests rage, and long, hard winters reign. 
The muscles are seen most fully developed in the brawny 
arm that plies the blacksmith's hammer. The Magic, of 
Bristol, R. L, a boat which beat everything easily at the 
Bridgeport regatta, in 1864, was built, owned and sailed 
by a blind man. It is difficulties which give birth to 
miracles. It is not every calamity that is a curse, and 
early adversity is often a blessing. Perhaps Madame de 
Maintenon would never have mounted a throne had not 
her cradle been rocked in a prison. Surmounted obsta- 
cles not only teach but hearten us in our future struggles, 
for virtue must be learned, though, unfortunately, some 
of the vices come as if by inspiration. The austerities 
of our northern climate, says Sharpe in his Essays, are 
thought to be the cause of our abundant comforts, as our 
wintry nights and stormy seas have given us a race of 
seamen perhaps unequalled in the world. 

As before swift ships there swims a hill of water, and a 
corresponding billowy abyss glides along close behind, 
so always before us is there a mountain, which we hope 
to climb, and behind us still a deep valley out of which 
we seem to have ascended. It seems to be the inevitable 
experience of all important projects, that their incipient 
steps should be surrounded with difficulties and retarded 
by opposition. 

Nature is a faultless teacher, and she opposes all her 
children into the perfection of their being! The little 
bird comes out from the nest ; it does not understand the 

• 343 



344 DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

doctrine of balancing ; it clings convulsively with its 
little feet to the swinging spray. But, for all that, Na- 
ture does not hold it gently in her hand, for she tosses 
the branch bravely this way and that. The bird does not 
fall — it only flutters, and, swayed into the doctrine of 
balancing, the next one sees of it, it is sitting and singing 
upon the topmost billows of the green pine. 

Nothing is really troublesome that we do willingly. 
Nobody knows what strength of parts he has till he has 
tried them. And of the understanding one may most 
truly say, that its force is greater generally than it thinks 
till it is put to it. A persuasion that we shall overcome 
any difficulties that we may meet with in the sciences, 
says Locke, seldom fails to carry us through them. No- 
body knows the strength of his mind, and the force of 
steady and regular application till he has tried. This is 
certain ; he that sets out upon weak legs will not only 
go farther, but grow stronger, too, than one who, with 
a vigorous constitution and firm limb, only sits still. 

Dr. Bushnell wisely says, "Never complain of your 
birth, your employment, your hardships ; never fancy 
that you could be something if you only had a different 
lot and sphere assigned you. God understands his own 
plan, and he knows what you want a great deal better 
than you do. The very things you most deprecate as 
fatal limitations or obstructions, are probably what you 
most want. What you call hindrances, obstacles, discour- 
agements, are probably God's opportunities; and it is 
nothing new that the patient should dislike his medicines, 
or any certain proofs that they are poisons. No ! A truce 
to all such impatience. Choke that envy which gnaws 
at your heart, because you are not in the same lot with 
others ; bring down your soul, or rather bring it up to re- 
ceive God's will, and to his work, in your lot and sphere, 
under your cloud of obscurity, against your temptations, 
and then you shall find that your condition is never op- 
posed to your good, but consistent with it." 

Almost all the first works of what are called popular 
authors, ran the gauntlet of ungentle rejections before a 
publisher was found to accept the manuscript. Uncle 



DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 345 

Tom's Cabin was refused by a well-known publishing 
house in Boston, but the same house subsequently made 
the amende honorable by a liberal engagement for another 
book. Charlotte Bronte knew the bitterness of rejection 
from publishers. Robinson Crusoe was ungently passed 
along from one house to another till De Foe was fain 
to take up with a publisher who brought out the book as 
a mere venture of curiosity. Beresford's Miseries of 
Human Life, which realized more than five thousand 
pounds by its publication, was rejected by a bookseller 
to whom he offered it for twenty. Andrew Millar, who 
brought out Johnson's Dictionary, sent the author the 
following letter with the acknowledgement of the receipt 
of the last sheet of the manuscript : " Andrew Millar 
sends his compliments to Mr. Samuel Johnson with the 
money for the last sheet of the copy of the Dictionary, and 
thanks God he has done with him." The publisher received 
this reply : " Samuel Johnson returns his compliments to 
Mr. Andrew Millar, and is very glad to find, as he does 
by his note, that Andrew Millar has the grace to thank 
God for anything." 

Alexander Dumas, Sr., says he commenced life amidst 
a number of discouraging failures. The girl with whom 
he had fallen in love never found it out until she had 
married another man. The first literary article which 
he carried to the editor of a journal was rejected in 
almost scornful terms. The first novel which he wrote 
was burned up at a conflagration. The first servant 
whom he engaged robbed him of nearly every sou. The 
first publisher whom he found failed before he had settled 
with him. The first play of his which was performed 
was hissed. The first criticism which he read about 
something he had written was full of virulent 
abuse. The first dramatic success he met with was 
dimmed by the insolence with which the manager, in his 
presence, attributed the triumph that had been achieved, 
not to the play, but to the skill of the actors. The first 
house he bought had a bad title and involved him in a 
lawsuit. The first journal he started was ruined by the 
malicrous intrigues of a hostile coterie. 



346 DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

Carrissimi, a famous composer of music, being praised 
for the ease and grace of his melodies, exclaimed! u Ah ! 
with what difficulty is this ease acquired!" 

Because you find a thing very difficult, do not presently 
conclude that no man can master it ; but whatever you 
observe proper and practical by another, believe likewise 
in your own power. 

"It is impossible!" said some, when Peter the Great 
determined on a voyage of discovery ; and the cold and 
uninhabited region over which he reigned furnished noth- 
ing but some larch trees to construct his vessel. But, 
though the iron, the cordage, the sails, and all that was 
necessary, except the provisions for victualing them, 
were to be carried through the immense desert of Siberia, 
down rivers of difficult navigation, and along roads 
almost impassible, the thing was done ; for the command 
of the sovereign, and perseverance of the people, sur- 
mounted every obstacle. 

"It is impossible/" said some, as soon as they heard 
the scheme of Oberlin's. To rescue his parishioners from 
a half starved state, he determined to open a communi- 
ty on with the high road to Strasburg, so that the pro- 
ductions of the Ben de la Roche might find a market. 
Having assembled the people, he proposed that they 
should blast the rocks, and convey a sufficient quantity 
of enormous masses to construct a wall from a road about 
a mile and half in length, along the bank of the River 
Bruche, and build a bridge across it. 

The peasants were astonished at this proposition, and 
pronounced it impracticable ; and every one excused him- 
self on the grounds of private business. He, however, 
reasoned with them and added the offer of his own 
example. No sooner had he pronounced the words, than 
with a pick axe on his shoulder he proceeded to the 
spot, while the astonished peasants, animated by his ex- 
ample, forgot their excuses, and hastened with one con- 
sent to fetch their tools to follow him. At length every 
obstacle was surmounted ; walls were erected to support 
the earth, which appeared ready to give way ; mountain 
torrents, which had hitherto inundated the meadows, 



DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 347 

were divided into courses, or received into beds sufficient 
to contain them, and the thing teas clone. The bridge 
still bears the name of the " Bridge of Charity." 

" It is impossible /" said some, as they looked at the 
impenetrable forest which covered the rugged flanks and 
deep gorges of Mount Pilatus in Switzerland, and hark- 
ened to the darling plan of a man named Rapp, to convey 
the pines from the top of the mountain to the lake of 
Lucerne, a distance of near nine miles. Without being 
discouraged by their exclamations, he formed a slide or 
trough of twenty-four thousand pine trees, six feet broad 
and from three to six feet deep, and the slide, which was 
completed in 1812, and called the Slide of Alpnach, was 
kept moist. Its length was forty-four thousand English 
feet. It had to be conducted over rocks, or along their 
sides, or under ground or over deep places, where it was 
sustained by scaffoldings ; and yet skill and perseverance 
overcame every obstacle, and this was done. The trees 
slid down from the mountain into the lake with wonder- 
ful rapidity. The large pines, which were about a 
hundred feet long, ran through the space of eight miles 
and a third in about six minutes. 

A gentleman who saw this great work, says that " such 
was the speed with which a tree of the largest size 
passed any given point, that he could only hit it once 
with a stick as it rushed by, however quickly he at- 
tempted to repeat the blow. 

Say not hastily, then, " It is impossible." It may be 
so to do a thing in an hour, or a day, or a week, by 
thoughtlessness and indolence ; but to act with wisdom, 
energy and perseverance, is to insure success. " Time 
and patience, 1 ' says a Spanish author, "make the mul- 
berry leaf satin! 1 ' and another remarks, that " care and 
industry do everything." 

We forget, and perhaps it is best not to remember, 
who it was that proposed to build a railway bridge 
across the Atlantic Ocean, by constructing a series of 
artificial islands as piers, but we are reminded of the 
scheme by the announcement that French engineers 
suggest tlae construction of a railway from Paris to 



348 DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

Pekin. To do this would be necessary to bridge the 
Hellespont, and do some tunneling under the Himalayas 
and other mountain ranges, in comparison with which the 
Mt. Cenis tunnel would be but a small affair. Yet there 
are those who confidently believe all this can and will be 
done, and perhaps they are right. At any rate it is never 
safe to pronounce anything impossible which does not 
require for its accomplishment the setting aside of the 
laws of nature. Engineers say they never met any 
difficulty half so hard to overcome as the incredulity of 
the world. 

A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a 
man. Kites rise against the wind, and not with the 
wind ; even a head wind is better than none. No man 
ever worked his passage anywhere in a dead calm. Let 
no man wax pale, therefore, because of opposition ; 
opposition is what he wants and must have, to be good 
for anything. 

Hardship is the native soil of manhood and self-reli- 
ance. He that cannot abide the storm without flinching 
or quailing, strips himself in the sunshine, and lies down 
by the wayside to be overlooked and forgotten. He 
who but braces himself to the struggle when the 
wind blows, gives up when they have done, and falls 
asleep in the stillness that follows. 

A man may avoid opposition, and strive to pass around 
difficulties, in the vain hope of accomplishing the ends 
of life without experiencing the jostle and clash of strife. 
But how is it with the flint and the steel? The former 
can be held in the hand for an age, and the sparks lie as 
dormant as though the fingers pressed but a lump of 
clay ; but smite flint with the opposing clicks of steel 
and the hand is enveloped in a shower of fire ! 

Difficulty is a severe instructor, set over us by the 
supreme ordinance of a parental Guardian and Legis- 
lator who knows us better than we know ourselves, 
and loves us better too. He that wrestles with us 
strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our 
antagonist is our helper. This amicable conflict with 
difficulty obliges us to an intimate acquaintance 



DIFFICULTIES AXD DISCOURAGEMENTS. 349 

with our object, and compels us to consider it in all its 
relations. It will not suffer us to be superficial. 

Difficulty is a harsh instructor, but a thorough one. 
Nearly all the eminent personages in the world's history 
have attended her school. Difficulty excites the mind 
to the dignity which sustains and finally conquers mis- 
fortunes, and the ordeal refines while it chastens. 

Were it not for the scorching drought, we would not 
appreciate the refreshing shower. With less conflict, we 
would have less victories ; with less trial, less joy. There 
is nothing worth having that is not difficult ; my life, and 
I suppose the life of every man who has worked with 
hand or head, has been one long contest with difficulties, 
and none of us would be the men we are now if we had 
allowed difficulties to conquer us. 

Neither men nor women become what they were in- 
tended to be by carpeting their progress with velvet ; 
real strength is tested by difficulties. If any man pos- 
sessed every qualification for success in life, it is prob- 
able he would remain quite stationary. The conscious- 
ness of his powers would tempt him to omit opportuni- 
ties. Those who do succeed ordinarily owe their success 
to some disadvantage under which they labor. It is the 
struggle against difficulty that brings faculties into play. 

There is a way out of all difficulty if you stoop low 
enough. 

A great deal of trouble is caused by the habit of look- 
ing at things "wrong end foremost." "How disconso- 
late you look!" said a bucket to his fellow-bucket, as 
they were going to the well. u Ah!" replied the other, 
" I was reflecting on the uselessness of being filled ; for, 
let us go away ever so full, we always come back empty." 
"There now! how strange to look at it in that way!" 
said the first bucket. "Now, I enjoy the thought that, 
however empty we come, we always go away full. Only 
look at it in that light, and you'll be as cheerful as 
I am." 

The saint seeks not to do great things ; for that reason 
he can accomplish great things. He who thinks many 
things easy is sure to encounter numerous difficulties. 



350 DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

Hence it happens that the saint who estimates everything 
difficult, encounters no difficulty to the end of his life. 

The darkest and most embarrassing trials are some- 
times the only means by which men can be brought to 
give up their own self-dependence, and trust in the Lord 
with all their hearts. 

Trials are of three- fold benefit to true religion. Hereby 
the truth of it is manifested ; also its beauty and amiable- 
ness ; and thus, too, it is purified and increased. 

0, how sweet is a harbor after a long storm, and a 
sunshiny day after a long, dark, tempestuous night, and 
a warm spring after a sharp winter! The miseries and 
the difficulties that a man meets with in this world, will 
exceedingly sweeten the glory of the other world. 

Prudence, as well as courage, is necessary to overcome 
obstacles. 

Better by far not start an object, if its pursuit is to be 
abandoned at the first difficulty. 

Difficulties to be surmounted must be met with energy. 

The wise and active conquer difficulties by daring to 
attempt them. 

It would require but a moment's reflection, were any 
incredulous, to satisfy all that in the attainment of an 
enviable eminence, obstacles have proved no hindrance, 
but rather motives to encourage unwearied exertion, and 
awake the mind to greater energy and bolder undertak- 
ings. Does the beacon on science hill lure one to 
attempt its climbing, the rough impediments, rugged 
obstacles detain him not. He pushes on, each obstacle 
surmounted furnishing tried armor to attack the next, and 
clear the way for those that follow. Difficulties are re- 
quisite to bring to light the hidden might of man's nature, 
and establish his power to accomplish. The ingenuity, 
energy and perse verence with which obstacles are met 
and conquered, by those toiling in the public arena, 
writes men great on the historic page. Says one, self- 
knowledge is wisdom, and no man can be truly ac- 
quainted with himself till his will to overcome and 
strength to endure are known. Difficulties, obstacles and 
trials are teachers, often harsh and severe, in whose schools 



DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 351 

these lessons are taught. Endurance, energy and perse- 
verance are important qualifications of character, insur- 
ing a worthy distinction to their possessors, and nowhere 
so thoroughly learned as in the guidance of these in- 
structors. 

Look around you upon the distinguished men that in 
every department of life guide and control the times, and 
what was their origin and early fortunes. Were they, 
as a general rule, rocked and dandled in the lap of wealth ? 
No. Such men emerge from the homes of decent com- 
petence or struggling poverty. Necessity sharpens their 
faculties, and privations and sacrifices brace their moral 
nature. They learn the great art of renunciation, and 
enjoy the happiness of a few wants. They know noth- 
ing of indifference or satiety. There is not an idle fibre 
in their frames. They put the vigor of resolute purpose 
into every act. The edge of their mind is always kept 
sharp. In the shocks of life, men like these meet the 
softly nurtured darlings of prosperity as the vessel of 
iron meets the vessel of porcelain. Lift your hearts 
above the region of wild hopes and cowardly fears. 
Put on that even temper of mind which shall be a shadow 
in success and a light in adversity. If wealth and dis- 
tinction come, receive them in a thankful and moderate 
spirit. If they do not come, fill their places with better 
guests. Remember that all which truly exalts and en- 
nobles a man is bound to him by ties as indissoluble as 
those which links the planets to the sun. Plant your- 
selves upon God's immutable laws, and fortune and 
failure will be nothing more than vapors that curl and 
play far beneath your feet. 

Many of the illustrious men whose names blazon the 
page of history, were the sons of women early left widows. 
Julius Ceesar lost his father at the age of fifteen. This, 
De Quincey says, Avas a decided advantage to him, as it 
u prematurely developed the masculine features of his 
character, forcing him while yet a boy under the dis- 
cipline of civil conflict and the yoke of practical life, 
without which even his energies would have been in- 
sufficient to sustain them." When Napoleon was sixteen 



352 DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS. 

his mother became a widow. Left with scanty means 
for the support and education of her eight children, she 
devoted all- her energies to the rearing of her family, 
with what marvelous success the whole world knows. 
The brightest character in the annals of our country, or 
of any country, was at the age of eleven left fatherless. 
But his mother was eminently qualified, both by nature 
and religion, to train her children in ways of highest 
virtue. She united to a strong mind and sound judg- 
ment great simplicity of manners, honesty, energy and 
truthfulness, and took unwearied pains to cultivate in her 
children the same noble qualities. In literature there 
are few names more brilliant than those of Sir William 
Jones and Sir James Mackintosh. These were the sons 
of widows who devoted their lives to the education of 
their children. An acute observer for fifty years of the 
rise and growth of prominent men, in one of our princi- 
pal cities, was remarking in our hearing the eminent 
success that the widows of her acquaintance had had in 
rearing their sons. One reason of it no doubt springs 
from the nature of things. A fatherless boy, with a 
noble mother at once to protect and lean upon him, is 
stimulated by every motive that can appeal to a fine 
nature. He is urged to supply the place of husband and 
son, to represent worthily the family dignity, and realize 
all the aspirations his fond parent, and his own ardent 
soul. High position and substantial achievement he 
must win for himself. A conscientious and ambitious 
mother cannot have stronger incentives to do all that 
can be done in the formation of noble character than she 
who feels responsible for the entire education and success 
of her children. Of many a timid, retiring, dependent, 
self-depreciating woman, widowhood has made a heroine. 
The great world may never hear of her triumphs, but 
they are treasured in the hearts of her family ; they are 
all recorded in the book. He who speaks in Sacred 
Writ again and again declares himself to be the Father 
of the fatherless and husband of the widow. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

The great secret of avoiding disappointment is not to 
expect too much. Despair follows immoderate hope, as 
things fall hardest to the ground that have been nearest 
to the sky. 

I once sat on a porch at twilight with a little boy in 
my lap. His bright, plump face glowed with a coaxing 
admiration as he turned it upward, saying: "Moon and 
star come down to me." After an expectant delay he 
seemed to remember th&t please was a powerful word for 
procuring pleasures in his happy circle. Feeling sure of 
success this time, each tiny hand was extended, with 
palms upward, ready to receive the gifts when they de- 
scended, as he said: "Moon and star, please do come to 
me." Finding that even please did not bring down the 
desired treasures, he gently laid his hands in his lap, and 
with a soft sigh of resignation, said: "Moon and star too 
high foi me! " but still with radiant face he gazed admir- 
ingly. I then thought terror and trouble would come 
to us if, in maturer years, we had our own way at all 
times, just as in mercy, moon and stars were held in their 
course despite childish pleadings. So, when our hopes 
are deferred, or plans fail, we may by a contemplation 
of Nature's quiet grandeur grow cool and content, say- 
ing : "All this which we asked was too high for us." 

Reverses will come, for such is the order of life ; they 
approach unheralded and unbidden, like a summer cloud. 
Life is full of enigmas; many of its events seem anoma- 
lous. Disappointments must often arise, our plans be dis- 
arranged, our brightest prospects blighted. Human in- 
genuity cannot conjecture what the future will be ; we 
have simply to await its developments and abide its 
issues — trusting in Him who is " too wise to err, too 
good to be unkind." 

The best of people will now and then meet with dis- 
appointments, for they are inherited by mortality. It is, 
however, the better philosophy to take things calmly and 

353 



354 DISAPPOINTMENT. 

endeavor to be content with our lot. We may at least 
add some rays of sunshine to our path, if we earnestly 
endeavor to dispel the clouds of discontent that may 
arise in our bosoms. And by so doing, we the more fully 
enjoy the bountiful blessing that God gives to his humblest 
creatures. 

It is far more noble to improve each hour in cultivat- 
ing the mind, and attuning it to the glory of the Creator. 
For this end it matters not so much whether we spend 
our time in study or toil ; the thoughts of the mind should 
go out and reach after the higher good. In this manner 
we may improve ourselves, till our thoughts come to be 
sweet ccmpanions that shall lead us along the path of 
virtue. Thus we may grow better within, whilst the 
cares of life, the crosses and losses and disappointments 
lose their sharp thorns, and the journey of life be made 
comparatively pleasant and happy. 

A little child, with bright, sunny, golden curls, sat in 
the shadow of a large oak tree on a summer's afternoon, 
and watched with childish earnestness the flickering sun- 
light through the leaves as it danced upon the ground 
beneath. Now attempting to imprison with its tiny 
palm one ray of sunlight, now clapping his hands in 
childish merriment at the fantastic forms it assumed. It 
is the game of life, we see, clutching at the sunlight, and 
realizing at last an empty shadow. The mother smiles 
at the infantile amusement, or perhaps catches her dar- 
ling to her bosom, and dreams of the time when he shall 
attain to manhood. The mother sees naught ahead but 
the clear sky of manhood's prosperity. Well it is for us 
that the future is veiled to our eyes, else we would weary 
of the trials and allurements that make up the sum of 
our existence. The child looks forward to manhood ; 
his dreams, are speculative ; the man looks backward to 
childhood, and sings the sunlight of the days of yore. 
From the time he sits on his mother's knee and plays 
"goose-head," where the sunlight streams in through the 
open window, until the last hours of life, he is playing 
with shadows. 

The school-boy, weary of the monotonous and never- 



CHANGE. 355 

to-be-conquered mathematics, envies the ignorant idler 
with plenty of time at his disposal, and so steals away 
from school duties, now and then, just for a little enjoy- 
ment. Time passes on ; the school-boy is not a school- 
boy forever. The time arrives when he is to go forth 
in the world and be his own master. Now for the first 
time he begins to look back and lament the mis-spent 
privileges ; he has learnt a lesson from the past, but will 
he profit by it in the future ? Let us see. He has arrived 
at that age when he feels the need of a companion to 
share his joys and sorrows and anticipate his wants. He 
looks about him, and at last feasts his eyes upon one just 
suited to his mortal vision. They enter upon life 
together; but are man's wants satisfied? Not yet. He 
is still clutching at a shadow. Wealth must be gained, 
even at the sacrifice of a small amount of honor. 

The home circle gradually becomes inadequate to 
supply the requisite amount of enjoyment, and he seeks 
diversion and amusement elsewhere. Home ties gradu- 
ally lose their influence over him ; and the man of family 
becomes a man of the world — hard, cold, calculating and 
morose. Money is the supreme idol of his heart ; and to gain 
money, every finer feeling is sacrificed. One by one his 
family is called away, until he stands alone in the world, 
a monument of the past. He plunges deeper in specu- 
lation, or perhaps buries his grief in the wine-cup. 

Years roll by ; the moneyed man succumbs at last to 
old age ; and as his tottering footsteps near the grave, 
then it is he first realizes the emptiness of life, and the 
shadow he so long pursued. Death claims the worn out 
frame at last ; and of all the treasures he has hoarded 
from the land of shadows, none, save the Christain hope, 
are present with him to smooth the dying pillow. 



CHANGE. 

Often as we laugh over the quaint epitaph found on 
an old gravestone: "I was well, I wanted to be better, 



356 CHANGE. 

I took medicine, and I am here," we overlook its general 
applicability to the affairs of life. As with health, so with 
business; nine persons out of ten ignore the golden secret 
of content; they are constantly striving after something 
different from that they enjoy. We do not depreciate 
enterprise, but it is the habit of change that we protest 
against — the habit of shifting from one pursuit to another. 
There are thousands of almost penniless and disappointed 
old men, picking up a precarious living at the extremity 
of life, because they have, in the course of their existence, 
tried a hundred different things, and abandoned all in 
turn simply because success was not instantaneous; to 
few men is it given to do more than one or two things 
well. The Will Honeycombs, and Master Simons and 
Admirable Crichtons are apt to be sad charlatans, de- 
ceiving themselves as well as others. There is scarcely 
any pursuit that, if followed out with singleness of pur- 
pose, will not yield a rich return. 

Everybody is apt to imagine somebody else's occupa- 
tion easier than his own — to think his neighbor's "lot" 
luckier than his — to be tempted to rob him of it, per- 
haps, by supplantation. 

The spirit of discontent is very unfortunate. It is 
worse. It is wicked as well as weak. As such it should 
be striven against with a hearty, and firmly -pronounced, 
u Get thee behind me, Satan!" The very entertainment 
of the thought is enervating — paralyzing — destructive of 
all that is worthy of the name of " success" in the pres- 
ent business of the entertainer. To accomplish anything, 
beyond what the common run of business or professional 
men perform, requires the utmost concentration of the 
mind on the matter in hand. There is no room, in the 
thoughts, for repinings over the misfortunes of one's lot, 
or wishes for an exchange of places with another. In- 
deed, it might be truthfully predicted that the indulgers 
of such wishes would fail, utterly, in the new sphere, 
could they get their wishes. 

Do you imagine that all are happy who have attained 
to those summits of distinction toward which your wishes 
aspire? Alas! how frequently has experience shown, 



CHANGE. 357 

that where roses were supposed to bloom, nothing but 
briers and thorns grow. Reputation, beauty, riches, 
grandeur, ' nay royalty itself, would many a time, have 
been gladly exchanged by the possessors, for that more 
quiet and humble station with which you now are dissat- 
isfied. 

It is the fate of mankind, too often, to seem insensible 
of what they may enjoy at the easiest rate. Much would 
have more and lost all. 

Monotony is pleasant in itself; morally pleasant, and 
morally useful. Living in the same house is monotonous ; 
but three removes, say the wise, are as bad as a fire. I de- 
light in that same monotony. It saves curiosity, anxiety, 
excitement, disappointment, and a host of bad passions. 
It gives a man the blessed invigorating feeling that he is 
at home ; that he has roots, deep and wide, struck down 
into all he sees ; and that only the Being who will do noth- 
ing cruel or useless, can tear them up. It is pleasant to 
look down on the same parish day after day, and say, I 
know all that lies beneath, and all beneath know me. If 
I want a friend, I know where to find him; if I want 
work done, I know who will do it. It is pleasant and 
good to see the same trees year after year; the same birds 
coming back in spring to the same shrubs; the same 
banks covered with the same flowers, and broken (if they 
be stiff ones) by the same gaps. Pleasant and good it is 
to ride on the same horse, to sit in the same chair, to 
wear the same old coat. That man who offered twenty 
pounds reward for a lost carpet-bag full of old boots was 
a sage, and I wish 1 knew him. Why should one change 
one's place, any more than one's wife or one's children ? 
Is a hermit-crab, slipping his tail out of one strange shell 
into another, in the hopes of its fitting him a little better, 
either a dignified, safe, or graceful amimal? The oftener 
one sees, the better one knows; and the better one 
knows, the more one loves. 

There is a family in New Haven that has moved thirty- 
two times in twenty-six years. They are totally unable 
to understand the meaning of the poet when he speaks 
about a "local habitation and a name." 



SOCIAL CHANGES. 

Once in two generations, on an average, the social 
wheel makes a complete revolution, and reverses the 
position of those who are on it. Those at the top now 
are they who were at the bottom in the lifetime of their 
fathers; and the children of those who are down now 
will be up before their fathers are passed away. The 
wheel is ever revolving, and it is the very fewest number 
that manage to maintain their position aloft, while the 
side that brought them to the top descends. Here and 
there we find a family that has kept itself up to a condi- 
tion of wealth, influence and honor, through two or three 
generations ; but the greater proportion plunge headlong 
to the bottom as rapidly as their fathers mounted to the 
top. A distinguished lecturer once said with reference 
to a conspicuous man of wealth in New York: u His 
father was a peddler, he himself is a millionaire ; and his 
son will die in the poor house." This, perhaps, was car- 
rying the illustration to an extreme; but the idea is only 
a bold picture of the changes that take place in our social 
life. Men of wealth and high position have no bitterer 
reflection than the thought that their children will be out- 
stripped before they reach the stage of middle life, by 
the sons of olacksmiths, tailors, carpenters and trades- 
men whom they refuse to associate with. Their very 
wealth is often a curse to their children, for it debars 
them from that healthful competition which sharpens the 
wits and invigoiates the faculties. It teaches them that 
labor and industry are things to be despised and avoided ; 
it encourages them in the habits of indolence and ex- 
travagance, and it withholds from them the stimulus that 
developes them into active, useful men. It is not true 
that rich men's sons are fools ; but it is true that too many 
sons of wealthy parents, by scorning healthful employ- 
ments, and relying upon the riches which their fathers 
acquired by patient, honest toil, allow their faculties to 
rust in idleness till they seem to be below the average 

358 



MISFORTUNE. 359 

of intelligence and talent. In fact, so nearly universal is 
the rule in this country, that poor men's sods rise to re- 
spectability and sometimes to eminence, and rich men's 
sons descend to poverty and oblivion, that it may be said to 
be a misfortune to be born rich, and an advantage to be 
born poor. It is not the sons of the rich who will, as a 
rule, remain rich. The sons of the poor will get rich ; and 
there are to-day, drudging in office, counting rooms, and 
manufacturing establishments of all kinds, the men who, 
in twenty-five years, will control the ration socially, 
politically and financially. Every man of them means to 
be married ; they will as a rule, make excellent husbands ; 
they are all at work trying to win success. They are 
men who would be easily improved by recognition, and 
by bringing them into good, intelligent society ; yet they 
are as little noticed as if they were so many dogs. Ex- 
cellent young men from the country go into the city to 
live for years without any society, and are regarded by 
the fashionable young women with indifference or con- 
tempt; but these men have a good hold upon the future; 
and when their success is known, in whatever field of en- 
terprise it may be, the fashionable world will be glad to 
receive them as belonging to their own number. As a 
rule, the young men for whoui a position has been won 
by virtuous and enterprising fathers amount to but little 
in the world; and companions chosen from those having 
their fortunes to make and their positions to win, are 
those to whom a well-bred woman can generally with 
safety intrust her happiness and herself. 



MISFORTUNE. 

There is a Russian proverb which says that misfortune 
is next door to stupidity; and it will generally be found 
that men who are constantly lamenting their ill-luck, are 
only reaping the consequences of their own neglect, mis- 
management, improvidence, or want of application. Dr. 
Johnson who went up to London with a single guinea in 



360 MISFORTUNE. 

his pocket, and who once accurately described himself 
in his signature to a letter, as Impransus, or Dinnerless, 
has honestly said, "All the complaints which are made 
of the world are unjust; I never knew a man of merit 
neglected; it was generally by his own fault that he failed 
of success." In the time that men waste in bewailing 
the perverseness of their fortune, they could gain a com- 
petence. 

Bad luck is simply a man with his hands in his breeches 
pockets and a pipe in his mouth looking to see how it will 
come out. Good luck is a man of pluck to meet difficul- 
ties, his sleeves rolled up, working to make it come right. 

Would you wish to live without trials? Then you 
would wish to die but half a man. Without trials you 
cannot guess at your own strength. Men do not learn to 
swim on a table; they must go into deep water, and 
buffet the surges. If you wish to understand their true 
character — if you would know their whole strength — of 
what they are capable, throw them overboard ! Over 
with them, and if they are worth saving, they will swim 
ashore of themselves. If there were no clouds we should 
not enjoy the sunshine. The trials of life are the tests 
which ascertain how much gold there is in us. We 
should manage our fortune as we do pur health — enjoy 
it when good, be patient when it is bad, and never apply 
violent remedies except in extreme cases. Never meet 
trouble half way, but let him have the whole walk for 
his pains. Perhaps he will give up his visit in sight of 
your house. If misfortune comes into your house, be 
patient, and smile pleasantly, and it will soon stalk out 
again, for it can't bear cheerful company. Do not think 
you are fated to be miserable, because you are disap- 
pointed in your expectation, and baffled in your pursuits. 
Do not declare that God has forsaken you, when your 
way is hedged about with thorns, or repine sinfully, when 
He calls your dear ones to the land beyond the grave. 
The sunshine lies upon the mountain-top all day, and 
lingers there latest and longest at eventide. Yet is the 
valley green and fertile, and the mountain- top barren 
and unfruitful. 



MISFORTUNE. 361 

The greatest misfortune of all, is not to be able to bear 
misfortune. Not to feel misfortunes is not the part of a 
mortal ; but not to bear them is not becoming in a man. 
Philosophy can teach us to bear the calamities of others 
with magnanimity, but it is religion only that can teach 
us to bear our own with resignation. Calamity never 
leaves us where it finds us ; it either softens or hardens 
the heart of its victim. Misfortune is never mournful to 
the soul that accepts it, for such do always see that every 
cloud is an angel's face. Every man deems that he has 
precisely the trials and temptations which are the hardest 
of all others for him to bear ; but they are so, simply be- 
cause they are the very ones he most needs. 

Bad fortune is a fancy ; she is just — 

Gives to the poor hope, and the rich distrust. 

From the manner in which men bear their conditions, 
we often pity the prosperous, and admire the unfortunate. 
Every man has his chain and his clog ; it may be more 
loose and light to one than it is to another ; but he who 
takes it up is more at ease than he who drags it. It is 
the part of a cowardly nature to be always predicting 
disaster. It may serve as a comfort to us in all our ca- 
lamities and afflictions that he that loses anything and 
gets wisdom by it is a gainer by the loss. Divine Provi- 
dence always places the remedy near the evil. There is 
no duty to which Providence has not annexed a blessing; 
nor is there any affliction, for which virtue has not pro- 
vided a remedy. 

Plutarch tells us that when Anaxagoras heard of the 
death of his son, he only said, I knew he was mortal. So 
we in all casualties of life should say, I knew my riches 
were uncertain, that my friend was but a man. Such 
considerations would soon pacify us, because all our 
troubles proceed from their being unexpected. A firm 
trust in the excellence of an Almighty Being, naturally 
produces patience, hope, cheerfulness, and all other dis- 
positions of mind, that alleviate those calamities which 
we are not able to remove. 

There is this good in real evils, they deliver us, while 
they last, from the petty despotism of all that were im- 



362 MISFORTUNE. 

aginary. The present evil is often the husk in which 
Providence has enclosed the germ of future prosperity. 
Misfortunes are moral bitters, which frequently restore 
the healthy tone of the mind when it has been cloyed 
and sickened by the sweets of prosperity. Wise men 
mingle innocent mirth with their cares, in order either 
to forget or overcome them. But to be intemperate for 
the ease of one's mind, is to cure melancholy with mad- 
ness. Instead of fighting misfortune, we too often make 
it prisoner. He that can endure can overcome. 

Misfortune and misconduct were born twins. Our 
faults are often the parent of our woes, and he who most 
declaims at the world's frown has generally done its best 
to earn it. 

When fortune humors, she corrupts us. Our own way 
is often the wrong way. Rugged roads make wary 
travelers. Dark trials are shining lights ; and the more 
we are diverted from what we covet and love, the better 
are we adapted to that kind of life which most people 
are compelled to lead; which they rebel against and de- 
nounce, but which is the daily school of wisdom and self- 
knowledge, whose discipline is sharp and severe, but ap- 
propriate to a warring and fluctuating world; whose 
calms are as stagnating and baneful as its storms are 
purifying and healthful ; and where tranquility is not a 
fixed and permanent condition, but the casual quiescence 
and unstable harmony of opposing and conflicting forces. 

Men's happiness springs mainly from moderate troubles, 
which afford the mind a healthful stimulus, and are fol- 
lowed by a reaction which produces a cheerful flow of 
spirits. 

A misfortune, like a storm in traveling, gives zest for 
the sunshine, freshness to the prospect, and often intro- 
duces an agreeable companion for the remainder of our 
journey. 

It is not the best things — that is, the things which we 
call best — that make men ; it is not the calm experiences 
of life ; it is life's rugged experience, its tempests, its 
trials. The discipline of life is here good and there evil, 
here trouble and there joy, here rudeness and there 



MISFORTUNE. 363 

smoothness, one working with the other, which necessi- 
tate adaptations, and contsitu tea part of that education 
which makes man a man, in distinction from an animal, 
which has no education. The successful man invariably 
bears on his brow the marks of his struggles which he 
has had to undergo. None of us know what we can live 
past till we have proved it. God sends us strange 
strength to carry us on from one great trial to the next 
that is reserved for us. We live through them — and 
past them. So that to the world they seem over ; so 
that stracgers cheerfully observe to each other, that u we 
seem quite ourselves." 

Every pain you feel is necessary ; God does not afflict 
willingly, or foi his pleasure, but for your profit. We 
can bear all that is ordained for us. Our strength is 
freshly renewed with every trouble. The right path 
leading to the ways of earthly happiness and content- 
ment is to know how to measure the trials sent upon us, 
and how to meet the vicissitudes of this life. 

The black cloud makes the traveler mend his pace 
and mind his home ; whereas a fair day and a pleasant 
way waste his time, and that stealeth away his affections 
in the prospect of the country. However others think 
of it, yet I take it as a mercy, that now and then, some 
troubles come between me and my sun, and many times 
some troubles do conceal my comforts ; for I perceive, if 
I should find too much friendship in my inn, in my pilgrim- 
age, I should soon forget my father's house, and my 
heritage. As we stand by the sea shore and watch the 
tide come in, we retreat, think we will be overwhelmed; 
soon, however, it flows back. So with the waves of 
trouble in the world ; they threaten us, but a firm resist- 
ance makes them break at our feet. 

People may rail as they like at rainy days ; we are 
confident the in-door, as well as the out-door world r 
never could get along without them. The work we ac- 
complish theu ! — the freedom from distracting intruders ! 
— the odds and ends of fragmentary plans we pick up! — 
the ideas which have time to hatch and mature and cluck 
success! We rejoice in every rain-drop that spatters 



364 MISFORTUNE. 

against the window ; — the more mud in the street, the 
clearer our brains. Therefore, all hail rainy days, say 
we. Like their bright, and more cheerful companions, 
clear days, they have their advantages, and serve their 
ends. 

Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you, for 
trouble rarely troubles people who never trouble them- 
selves about trouble. 

Should misfortune overtake you, retrench, work harder, 
but never fly; confront difficulties with unflinching per- 
severance ; should you then fail, you will be honored ; 
but shrink, and you will be despised. 

The spirits of some men seem proof against bad 
fortune. If they are afflicted with jaundice so badly that 
everything looks yellow to them, they are happy in 
having always before them a golden prospect. 

There is always one consolation — whatever our mis- 
fortune, it might be worse. Where life hangs on a 
thread, it would be a comfort to think that it was not 
hanging on a rope. 

Our worst misfortunes are those that never befall us. 

If you fall into misfortune, disengage yourself as well 
as you can; creep through the bushes that have the 
fewest briars. There is no fortune so good that it may 
not be reversed, and none so bad that it may not be bet- 
tered. While we are looking away off yonder for the 
solution of our difficulties, the remedy is all the time lying 
just under our noses! 

Trials are the more severe as we look at them, dwell 
upon them, and ponder them in our hearts. Looking 
continually at an object magnifies it. Turning from all 
our surroundings, and fixing the eye on Jesus,, and on 
him alone, obstacles are removed, difficulties vanish, and 
the soul rests in quietness in the arms of infinite love, 
secure from all that can harm. 

Bury your troubles, but don't linger around the grave- 
yard conjuring up their ghosts to haunt you. There are 
men who chew misfortunes as asses chew thistles. 

It is much better for one to forget his misfortunes than 
to brood over them, and talk about them. To brood over 



MISFORTUNE. 365 

ills which may happen in the future, is to make of imag- 
ination an ever present reality. Grieving for misfortune 
is adding gall to wormwood. "Don't shiver for last year's 
snow," a saying of Archbishop Whately's, is peculiarly 
applicable to those who make themselves miserable ovei* 
troubles that are past. 

It would be no virtue to bear calamities, if we did not 
feel them. 

Some people are as careful of their troubles as mothers 
are of their babies ; they cuddle them, and rock them, 
and hug them, and cry over them, and fly into a passion 
with you if you try to take them away from them ; they 
want you to fret with them, and to help them to believe 
that they have been worse treated than any body else. 
If they could, they would have a picture of their grief 
in a gold frame hung over the mantel-shelf for everybody 
to look at. And their grief makes them ordinarily selfish 
— they think more of their dear little grief in the basket 
and in the cradle than they do of all the world besides; 
and they say you are hard-hearted if you say " don't fret. 1 ' 
" Ah! you don't understand me — you don't know me — 
you can't enter into my trials." 

You know the story of the boy who would not cry, 
though the wolf was gnawing him beneath his frock. 
Most of us have some wolf to gnaw us somewhere ; but 
we are generally gnawed beneath our clothes, so that the 
world doesn't see, and it behooves us to bear it that the 
world shall not suspect. The man who goes about pro- 
claiming himself to be miserable will be not only miser- 
able, but contemptible as well. 

We often live under a cloud ; and it is well for us that 
we should do so. Uninterrupted sunshine would parch 
our hearts ; we want shade and rain to cool and refresh 
them. The filter ot misfortune is needed to separate 
true friends from the scum. 

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, 

Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 

What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 

Patience her injury a mockeiy makes. 

Therobb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; 

He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 

— Shak. 



366 MISFORTUNE. 

Somebody says, u half the troubles of life are born of 
trifles." Somebody is not far wrong. Man is so fear- 
fully and wonderfully made that he bears great evils with 
more equanimity than what are called little annoyances. 
If Benedick loses the wife of his bosom, the odds are 
that he bears the dispensation like a Christian ; but if he 
mislays his latch-key he too frequently swears like a 
heretic. An individual capable of burying his grand- 
mother without a groan, has been known to manifest a 
remarkable degree of feeling at the absence of a shirt 
button. The mysterious disappearance of small, inani- 
mate objects, frequently gives rise to the most lively 
concern. Strong-minded ladies, who would scorn to show 
undue excitement amid the convulsions of an earthquake, 
have been heard to use intemperate expressions when 
they could not find their thimble or their scissors. 
There are dozens of articles in common use which have 
a villainously provoking 'trick of concealing themselves 
at the very moment when they are most needed, that 
might well disturb the moral equilibrium of a saint. In- 
deed, we have known a church-member, in good standing, 
to say things about a missing pair of spectacles, which 
were anything but canonical. Devout angels, who would 
not have winced under the misfortune that befel Jonah, 
sometimes stamp with rage when their lines, instead of 
falling in pleasant places, get fast in a submerged snag or 
an impending tree ; and we have seen two Christian wo- 
men in an omnibus in sublime passion because one of 
them wanted a window open and the other wanted it 
shut. Almost any of us can brace ourselves up to en- 
counter with fortitude the great difficulties of life ; it is 
the little ones that upset us. He who can bear both 
without wincing or ill-temper, is not only a hero to the 
world at large, but even to his family. 

It is less difficult to hide a thousand pounds than a hole 
in the coat. Forty little debts of one dollar each, will 
cause you more trouble and dunning than one big one of 
a thousand. 

When birds are flying over, and the fowler lies in wait 
for them, if they fly low, some are wounded, and some 



MISFORTUNE. 367 

swerving sideways, plunge into the thicket and hide 
themselves. But you will find that immediately after the 
first discharge of the gun, the flock rise and fly higher. 
And at the next discharge they rise again, and fly still 
higher. And not many times has the plunging shot 
thinned out their number, before they take so high a 
level that it is in vain that the fowler aims at them, be- 
cause they are above the reach of his shot. When 
troubles, come upon you, fly higher. And if they will 
strike you, fly still higher. And by and by you will rise 
so high in the spiritual life, that your affection will be 
set on things so entirely above, that these troubles shall 
not be able to touch you. "Rise higher." 

Often when the hand of misfortune has darkened our 
brightest prospects, and swept away our sunlit dreams of 
future happiness, has some unseen monitor pointed our 
drooping spirit towards the day-star of Hope, and bid us 
struggle on ; and as we look forward into the future, 
fancy points us to a brighter day's dawning. When the 
soul is often bowed down with the weight of its own 
sorrows, the heart is well nigh crushed, and despair is 
slowly preying as a canker worm upon its vitals, even 
then some faint glimmering of a sunlit future steals upon 
it like a rainbow of light. Mark that pale mother bend- 
ing over the couch of a sick and dying child! The 
night wind howls mournfully around her shattered 
dwelling, as if to hymn the requiem of the dying one 
within. The few remaining embers are fast fading away 
and she knows not where to obtain more ; poverty, want 
and death seem to be her inevitable doom. Then, in this 
her hour of sorrow, and of woe, she lifts her heart to 
heaven, and prays for a speedy relief and she prays not 
in vain. Look for a moment on the dark ages, when 
Romanism ruled the world, when innocence and virtue 
became its victims, and ignorance and superstition walked 
abroad in the land ; but ere long truth conquered error, 
and the night of darkness gave place to the light day. 
In the last great conflict of our Saviour with the 
powers of darkness, when the wrath of God seemed 
overshadowing him, he cried with a loud voice, saying, 



368 ADVERSITY. 

"My God, my God! why hast thou forsaken me?" Was 
not even then the vale about to be opened, which 
separated him and the Great Eternal, and the hidden 
mysteries of the unseen to be revealed. 

Man is ever wishing, and never satisfied — ever chang- 
ing, and never fixed — ever hoping, and never realizing — 
and thus many dark and desolate hours fall to the lot of 
earth's sons and daughters. And although dark shadows 
may linger round thy pathway, and dark clouds of 
gloomy despondency steal over thy spirit in the journey 
of life, yet still hope on, and hope ever, and be assured 
that though dark may be the night, bright will be the 
dawning of the day. 



ADVERSITY. 

No man has a thorough taste of prosperity to whom 
adversity has never happened. He that has never known 
adversity is but half acquainted with others, or with 
himself. Constant success shows us but one side of the 
world. For as it surrounds us with friends who wiP 
tell us only our merits, so it silences those enemies from 
whom alone we can learn our defects. A wise man takes 
all adversities and misfortunes as blessings in disguise. 
He laughs and is always happy, while the poor com- 
plaining simpleton fancies happiness to consist in idle 
pleasure, and never finds it. 

Past enjoyments do not alleviate present evils ; where- 
as the evils a man has endured, heighten the present 
satisfactions. Prosperity is not without its troubles, nor 
is adversity without its comforts. A good man enjoys 
comfort in the midst of adversity. To the upright there 
ariseth light in darkness. Prosperity has always been 
the cause of far greater evil to men than adversity ; and 
it is easier for a man to bear this patiently than not to 
forget himself in the other. If you faint in the day of 
adversity, your strength is small. 

The virtue of prosperity is temperance, but the virtue 



ADVERSITY. 369 

of adversity is fortitude, and the last is the most sublime 
attainment. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testa- 
ment ; adversity of the New which, therefore, carrieth 
the greater benediction and clearer revelation of God's 
favor. 

It is more honorable not to have and yet deserve, than 
to have and not deserve. The Christian knows that life 
has many trials, and believes that God has appointed this 
world as the representative for another, and regards not 
with feelings of envy or jealousy the more prosperous con- 
dition of others. The misfortunes of the virtuous often 
turn to their advantage. When the world persecutes 
them, they are generally driven into some illustrious 
career. Misfortunes are the road to great talents; or, at 
least, to great virtues, which are preferable. 

Imprint this maxim deeply in your mind, that there is 
nothing certain in this human and mortal state, by which 
means you will avoid being transported with prosperity 
and dejected in adversity. In contemplating your mis- 
fortune always look beneath you — in thinking of your 
fortune and wisdom, always look above you — thus shall 
you be kept from despair and from pride. Never allow 
misfortune to make you selfish, but imitate the example 
of Fenelon, who, when his library was on fire, exclaimed, 
" God be praised that it is not the dwelling of a poor 
man." Repine not if you see others better fed than 
yourself. Perhaps they are fattened for destruction, and 
you dieted for health. A main reason why adversity 
often makes a man scorned is that it makes him abject, 
thus worthy of scorn. Some people regard all their own 
afflictions as trials, and all their neighbor's as judgments. 
The learned pig didn't learn its letters in a day. True 
merit, like the pearl inside an oyster, is content to re- 
main quiet, until it finds an opening. The top straw- 
berries are eaten the first. He who leaves early gets the 
best hat. Pride sleeps in a gilded crown: contentment 
in a cotton nightcap. 

Adversity is a poultice which reduces our vanity and 
strengthens our virtue ; it is the great lapidary, by which 
all human crystallizations must sooner or later be tried. 

2± 



370 ADVERSITY. 

From those which possess the hidden diamond it only re- 
moves the unseemly coating; the worthless ones, it 
grinds to powder. Adversity overcome is the brightest 
glory, and willingly undergone, the greatest virtue. 
Sufferings are but the trials of valliant spirits. 

Much adversity is requisite to make us hate life; a 
beckon from prosperity will recall this hatred instantly. 

Adversity abases the loveliness of the world, that 
might entice us ; it abates the lustfulness of the flesh 
within, that incites us to folly and vanity ; and it abates 
the spirit in its quarrel with the two former, which tends 
much to the reviving and recovering of decayed graces. 

A virtuous man is more peaceable in adversity than a 
wicked man in prosperity. Nothing but moderation and 
greatness of mind can make either a prosperous or an 
adverse fortune easy to us. If you can live free from 
want, care for no more, for the rest is but vanity. A 
very little is sufficient for a wise man. 

Prosperity is no just scale ; adversity is the only true 
balance to weigh a friend. Faith and friendship are 
seldom truly tried but in extremes. To find friends 
when we have no need of them, and to want them when 
we have, are both alike easy and common. In prosperity, 
who will not profess to love a man; in adversity, how 
few will show that they do it. When we are happy in 
the spring- tide of abundance, and the rising flood of 
plenty, then the world will be our servants ; then all men 
flock about us, with bared heads, with bended bodies and 
protesting tongues. But when these pleasing waters fall 
to ebbing; when wealth shifteth to another strand; then 
men look upon us at a distance, and stiffen themselves, 
as if they were in armor; lest, if they should comply 
with us, they should get a wound in the close. Our 
fortunes and ourselves are things so closely linked, that 
we know not which is the cause of the love that we find. 
When these two shall part, we may then discern to which 
of them affection will make wing. Men are often deserted 
in adversity. When the sun sets our very shadows 
refuse to keep us company. In our adversity it is night 
with us, and in the night many beasts of prey range 



ADVERSITY. 371 

abroad that keep their dens through the day. In time 
of good fortune it is easy to appear great — nay, even 
to act greatly; but in misfortune very difficult. The 
greatest man will commit blunders in misfortune, be- 
cause the want of proportion between his means and 
his ends progressively increases and his inward strength 
is exhausted in fruitless efforts. 

Whoever attempts to cross the boisterous sea of life 
without sound moral principles for ballast, will either be 
wrecked by the storms of adversity or capsized by the 
breezes of prosperity. 

11 Sweet are the uses of adversity!" 

The Emperor of Austria has been so affected by the 
execution of his brother, Maximilian, that he is reported 
to have declared that he will never again sign a death 
warrant. " One touch of nature makes mankind kin." 

Adversity exasperates fools, dejects cowards, draws 
out the faculties of the wise and industrious, puts the 
modest to the necessity of trying their skill, awes the 
opulent, and makes the idle industrious. 

He who bears adversity well gives the best evidence 
that he will not be spoiled by prosperity. 

Adversity certainly has its uses, and very valuable 
ones, too. It has been truly remarked that many a man, 
in losing his fortune, has found himself and been ruined 
into salvation. Adversity flattereth no man. Oft from 
apparant ills our blessings rise. Who never fasts, no ban- 
quet e'er enjoys. In prosperity, be humble ; in adversity, 
cheerful. If you have the blues, go and see the poorest 
and sickest families within your knowledge. To bear 
the sharp afflictions of life like men, we should also feel 
them like men. The darker the setting, the brighter the 
diamond. Probably we might often become reconciled 
to what we consider a hard lot by comparing ourselves 
with the many who want what we possess rather than 
with the few who possess what we want, He is happy 
whose circumstances suit his temper; but he is happier 
who can suit his temper to his circumstances. There is 
a virtue in keeping up appearances. He is a fool that 
grumbles at every little mischance. Put the best foot 



372 ADVERSITY. 

forward, is an old and good maxim. Don't run about 
and tell acquaintances that you have been unfortunate ; 
people do not like to have unfortunate men for acquaint- 
ances. If the storm of adversity whistles around you, 
whistle as bravely yourself; perhaps the two whistles 
may make melody. 

Men are frequently like tea — the real strength and 
goodness are not properly drawn out of them till they 
have been a short time in hot water. The ripest fruit 
grows on the roughest wall. It is the small wheels of 
the carriage that come in first. The man who holds the 
ladder at the botton is frequently of more service than 
he who is stationed at the top of it. The turtle, though 
brought in at a rear gate, takes the head of the table. 
Better to be the cat in the philanthropist's family than a 
mutton pie at a king's banquet. To enjoy to-day, stop 
worring about to-morrow. Next week will be as capable 
of taking care of itself as this one is. No man honors 
God, and no man justifies God, at so high a rate, as he 
who lays his hand upon his mouth when the rod of God 
is upon his back. That moment we can patiently say 
from our heart — under any trial, God's will be done; that 
moment the smart and pain are taken out of it, and the 
wound commences to heal. Slowly it may be — with 
many a halting step in store ere all traces of our faltering 
shall have disappeared, but yet when that has been 
sincerely said, as certain as life itself, we shall stand 
strong and erect before him, with smiling face looking 
into our untried and accepted future, leaving it willingly 
in his hands who " in love, hath smote us." Prosperity — 
not adversity — is our foe. We may well pray, when life 
like a brimming wine cup is held sparkling to our lips, 
and way is made for U3 in the public thoroughfare, and 
our ships ride safely on the ocean, and our coffers are 
full, for then is the soul too often starved, and lies like 
Lazarus begging at the gate of Dives. Ah — if we have 
no ears for that cry ! If in rags that soul must be bid 
to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. If all we have 
lived for must be left at the tomb's portal — how much 
more blessed he, who through blinding tears, has yet laid 



DAYS OF DARKNESS. 



373 



up his treasure in heaven. No man can become truly 
wise, till, sensible of his spiritual ignorance, like a little 
child, he comes to God's Word to learn the first elements of 
truth. 

God denies us nothing, but with a design to give us 
something better. 

Adversity, sage, useful guest, 
Severe instructor, but the best. 
It is from these alone we know, 
Justly to value things below. 



DAYS OF DARKNESS. 

" Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the 
gun ; but' if a man lives many years, and rejoices in them all"; yet let him re- 
member the days of darkness; for they shall be many." — Ecdesiastes 11 : 7, 8. 

Behold that young man just leaving the parental home 
to work out for himself the deep and intricate problem 
of human life. Health blooms upon his cheek, and 
nerves his arm ; hope inspires his breast ; and fancy be- 
guiles him with enchanting prospects. The fight is 
golden that illumines his morning sky. and its roseate 
hues rest beautifully on the western hill-tops, over whose 
craggy summits lies the path which he must tread, foot- 
soie and weary often, when clouds meet above his head. 
and thunders roll, and lightning flash, blasting perhaps 
the beloved objects that ministered to his comfort and 
happiness. Trace him in the scenes of busy life, — there 
is a mark of sadness on his countenance, — why is it? A 
day of darkness is approaching. A parent, a brother, or 
sister, a child, or wife, it may be, is lying on a bed of 
death. Grief bows him to the dust, — gloom gathers 
around him, — pleasure has lost its charms ; the season of 
calamity has come. And this is but the "beginning of 
sorrows ;' 1 for the days of darkness shall be many. 

Opulence has rewarded his toils; he counts gold and 
calls it his own ; he dwells in a luxurious mansion : he has 
houses and lands, and flocks and herds. But the raging 
flames sweep away his structures : the thief purloins his 



374 DAYS OF DARKNESS. 

treasures ; reserves swallow up his substance ; — he is 
penniless. Adversity weighs him down ; friends forsake 
him ; servitude is his portion ; and he eats the bread of 
poverty. It is a day of darkness. 

He has gained the respect and esteem of his fellow 
men ; his integrity and uprightness have earned for him 
the confidence of his neighbors ; but suspicious rumors 
are covertly circulated in the community, tending to 
disparage him in the estimation of the good ; foul slanders 
gain currency, blackening fearfully his hitherto fair 
character ; circumstances are against him ; he is unable to 
redeem his reputation, and, though innocent, the stain 
cannot be removed. Old friends, with whom he has 
spent many happy hours, now shun his society, and the 
vile and abandoned cast their reproach upon him. His 
sun is clouded, — it is a gloomy day in his history. 

Or, perhaps, his cheeks lose their rosy blush, and be- 
come wan and sunken; his pulse, bouncing once, is 
sluggish and dull ; his eye has lost its fire ; his brawny 
arm is powerless; his boasted strength is vanished ; dis- 
ease has fastened itself upon his frame, and he looks 
forward sorrowfully to weary months, — years, perchance, 
— of suffering and anguish, terminated, it may be, by 
death; or, which is scarcely less to be dreaded, left with 
a broken constitution, and dragging out a miserable ex- 
istence, beset by pain and distress. Then will he bethink 
him of " the days of darkness;" for many indeed are his 
portion. 

Pressed down thus by accumulated misfortunes, — ■ 
bereaved of friends, — deprived of property, — spoiled of 
reputation, — undermined in health, — it were not strange 
if despondency should seize, upon his mind, and com- 
pletely unfit him for exertion to better his sad lot. His 
ambition, that once soared so high and plumed its wings 
for such daring flights, crest-fallen and unnerved, may 
trail its gaudy pinions in the dust; hope, whose inspiring 
words in former times, rang upon his ear like the tone 
of a trumpet, is silent now ; or, if that silence is occasion- 
ally broken, it speaks but in whispered words, and with 
faltering accents ; love, that in more propitious seasons 



AFFLICTION. 375 

warmed his heart and vivified his whole nature, has 
yielded up its dominion to stern and sullen misantrophy; 
and life itself may seem to him a burthen too heavy to 
be borne. Ah, how dark and cheerless are such days ! 

But far more deplorable is the state of him, who, hav- 
ing run through life's brief years in the sweet sunshine 
of comfort and earthly happiness, comes at length to the 
unwelcome hour when Death summons him away, and 
who, as he glances his spirit's eye through the vast future 
that awaits him, sees no cheering light, no rising sun, to 
gladen his endless career, and remembers, with bitterness 
of soul, that although he has rejoiced in many years upon 
the earth, many, many u days of darkness" now lie before 
him, even an Eternity of sorrow and unavailing repent- 
ance. 

Thrice happy he, whose path is that of the just, which, 
beaming brighter and brighter day by day, is lost at 
length in the noontide splendors of the Heavenly Glory ! 



AFFLICTION. 

They are always impaired by affliction, who are not 
thereby improved. Some natures are like grapes — the 
more they are down-trodden the richer the tribute they 
supply. It may be affirmed, that good men generally 
reap more substantial benefit from their afflictions, than 
bad men do from their prosperities ; for what they lose 
in wealth, pleasure, or honor, they gain in wisdom, good- 
ness, and tranquility of mind. No creature would be 
more unhappy, said Demetrius, than a man who had never 
known affliction. The best need afflictions for the trial 
of their virtue. How can we exercise the grace of con- 
tentment, if all things succeed well ? or that of forgive- 
ness, if we have no enemies ? 

A good conscience is to the soul, what health is to the 
body. It preserves a constant ease and serenity within 
us, and more than countervails all the calamities and afflic- 
tions which can possibly befall us. When we pity those 



376 AFFLICTION. 

that endure sickness and distress, or any other temporal 
afflictions ; let us remember how much worse it is with 
the prosperous and gay sinner, with them who are given 
over to a reprobate sense, and are cut off in the midst of 
their wickedness. As no man lives so happy, but to some 
his life may seem unpleasant ; so we find none so miser- 
able, but that one may hear of another that would change 
calamities with him. 

Nothing, perhaps, has a happier effect upon the human 
heart, than the lessons affliction and suffering teach, pro- 
vided we show proper submission. To rebel against 
these has the opposite effect. It creates a petulance that 
very much aggravates our difficulties. To bear the ills 
of life patiently, is one of the noblest virtues; and one, 
too, that requires as vigorous an exercise of the will, as 
to lesist the encroachments of wrong. The virtue of en- 
durance is nearly allied to that of perseverence. Chil- 
dren should be taught to bear their yoke in their youth. 
One month in the school of affliction will teach us more 
wisdom than all the grave precepts of Aristotle in seven 
years. The way to make calamities easy is to make them 
familiar. 

What are honor, fame, wealth and power when com- 
pared with the expectation of a being without end, and 
a happiness adequate to that end? How poor will these 
things seem at our last hour ! and how joyful will that 
man be who hath led an honest, virtuous life, and hath 
traveled on to heaven, though, perhaps, through the 
roughest ways of poverty, affliction and contempt. Says 
Chrysostom : u 0h! how many have been coached to 
hell in the chariots of earthly pleasure, while others have 
been whipped to heaven by the rod of affliction! 1 ' 

St. Paul teaches us that tribulation worketh patience, 
patience, experience ; and experience hope. 

God's aim in afflicting his children is either to keep 
them from sin, or, when they have sinned, to bring them 
to repentance for it, and from it. Burn me here ; 
scourge me here ; only spare me there. 

If you would not have affliction visit you twice, listen 
at once to what it teaches. 



AFFLICTION. 377 

There is an old story in the Greek annals of a soldier 
under Antigonus, who had a disease about him, an ex- 
tremely painful one, likely to bring him soon to the grave. 
Always first in the charge was this soldier, rushing into 
the hottest part of the fray, as the bravest of the brave. 
His pain prompted him to fight, that he might forget it ; 
and he feared not death, because he knew that in any 
case he had not long to live. Antigonus, who greatly 
admired the valor of his soldier, discovering his malady, 
had him cured by one of the most eminent physicians of 
the day ; but, alas ! from that moment the warrior was 
absent from the front of the battle. He now sought his 
ease ; as he remarked to his companions, he had some- 
thing to live for — health, home, family and other com- 
forts, and he would not risk his life now as aforetime. 
So when our troubles are many, we are often by grace 
made courageous in serving God ; we feel we have noth- 
ing to live for in this world, and we are driven by hope 
of the world to come, to exhibit zeal, self-denial, and 
industry. But how often is it otherwise in better times ! 
for then the joy and pleasures of this world make it hard 
for us to remember the world to come, and we sink into 
inglorious ease. 

It is not until we have passed through the furnace that 
we are made to know how much dross was in our com- 
position. 

Sanctified afflictions are spiritual promotion. 
Afflictions, when accompanied with grace, alter their 
nature, as wormwood eaten with bread, will lose its bit- 
terness. 

Afflictions are designed to impress the mind with its 
obligations, and lead men to Christ. If improved by 
Christians, they will contribute to their holiness, their ac- 
tivity and zeal, and their advancement in the divine life. 
If improved by those who have been before indifferent 
to their soul's interest, they will lead them to repentence, 
and to the devotion of their hearts to God in faith and 
affection. There is a voice in the providence of God 
which speaks with solemnity, and which it is extremely 
dangerous to disregard. 



378 SUFFERING. 

During Dr. Payson's last illness, a friend coming into 
his room remarked, familiarly, "Well, I am sorry to see 
you lying here on your back." u Do you know what God 
puts us on our backs for?" asked Dr. Payson, smiling. 
u No," was the answer. " In order that we may look up- 
ward." His friend said to him, "I am not come to con- 
dole but to rejoice with you; for it seems to me that this 
is no time for mourning." " Well, I am glad to hear that," 
was the reply; "it is not often that I am addressed in 
such a way. The fact is I never had less need of condo- 
lence, and yet everybody persists in offering it ; whereas, 
when I was prosperous and well, and a successful preacher, 
and really needed condolence, they flattered and congrat- 
ulated me." Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and 
if we endure chastening, God dealeth with us as with 
sons and daughters. 



SUFFERING. 

The Mexicans salute their new born infants in this 
manner: " Child, thou art come into the world to 
suffer; endure and hold thy peace." All mankind must 
taste the bitter cup which destiny has mixed. It is 
better to suffer than to injure. It is better to suffer 
without a cause than that there should be a cause for 
our suffering. By experiencing distress, an arrogant in- 
sensibility of temper is most effectually corrected, from the 
remembrance of our own sufferings naturally prompting us 
to feel for others in their sufferings, and if Providence has 
favored us, so as not to make us subject in our own lot to 
much of this kind of discipline, we should extract improve- 
ment from the lot of others that is harder, and step aside 
sometimes from the flowers and smooth paths which it is 
permitted us to walk in, in order to view the toilsome march 
of our fellow creatures through the thorny desert. 

" Behind the steps that misery treads, 
Approaching comforts view." 

It is a groundless assertion that suffering works out a 



SUFFERING. 379 

moral purification by a natural law. Sometimes tem- 
poral afflictions lead men to consider their spiritual 
wants, and to seek the good of their higher nature. 
And when once the heart has been renewed by grace, 
and has entered into filial relations with God, the dis- 
cipline of suffering has a tendency to purify its affections 
from earthly dross, and to bring into a fuller participa- 
tion of the divine holiness. But this is not strictly the 
tendency of suffering as such, but of that gracious dis- 
position which leads the humble and believing soul to 
use suffering for its own profit. How often, alas, does 
suffering not only fail to purify the soul from sin, but 
aggravate and intensify its selfish and malignant passions, 
and make it a very fiend. 

It is true that fire, borne for the sake of truth, is 
martyrdom ; but the hand burnt in ascetic severity does 
not give the crown of martyrdom, nor even inspire the 
martyr's feeling. Fastings such as St. Paul bore, from 
inability to get food, give spiritual strength ; but fastings 
endured for mere exercise, often do no more than pro- 
duce feverishness of temper. This holds good, likewise, 
of bereavement. The loss of those dear to us — relations 
and friends — when it is borne as coming from God, has 
the effect of strengthening and purifying the character. 
But to bring sorrow wilfully upon ourselves can be of 
no avail towards improvement. The difference in these 
two things lies in this : that when God inflicts the blow, 
He gives the strength ; but when you give it yourself, 
God does not promise aid. Be sure this world has enough 
of the cross in it ; you need not go out of your way to 
seek it. Be sure there will always be enough humiliation 
and shame, and solitariness for each man to bear, if he be 
living the Christ life. They need not be self-inflicted. 

Be mindful of the sufferings of the poor. 



SORROW. 

A French wit and philosopher has said : " Our path 
through life is thick set with thorns. We may as well 
brush quickly and lightly past them" He who tastes only 
the bitter in the cup of life, who looks only at the clouds 
which lower in one quarter of the heavens, while the 
sun is shining cheerily in another, who persists in prick- 
ing and scratching himself with the thorn, and refuses to 
enjoy the fragrance of the rose — is an ingrate to God and a 
torment to himself. The record of human life is far more 
melancholy than its course ; the hours of quiet enjoyment 
are not noted; the thousand graces and happiness of social 
life, the loveliness of nature meeting us at every step, 
the buoyancy of spirit resulting from health and pure air, 
the bright sun, the starry firmament — all that cheers man 
on his road through his probationary state, that warms 
the heart and makes life pleasant, is omitted in the 
narrative, which can only deal with facts ; and we read of 
disappointment, and sickness, and death, and exclaim, 
u Why is man born to sorrow?" He is not so; years of 
enjoyment brace the soul for the grief when its comes; 
and when it does come, it comes with so many alleviating 
circumstances, for those who do not wilfully reject all the 
lesser pleasures which the loving Father of all his works 
has with so tender a care scattered at our feet, that even 
the grief is far less in the reality than it appears in the 
relation. 

Sorrow comes soon enough without despondency; it 
does a man no good to carry around a lightning rod to 
attract trouble. When a gloom falls upon us, it may be 
we have entered into the cloud that will give its gentle 
showers to refresh and strengthen us. Heavy burthens 
of sorrow seem like a stone hung round our neck, yet 
they are often only like the stone used by pearl-divers, 
which enables them to reach the prize and rise enriched. 
Without suffering there could be no fortitude, no patience, 
no compassion, no sympathy. Many of the brightest 

380 



SORROW. 381 

virtues are like stars — it must be night or they cannot 
shine. 

Every heart has its secret sorrow, which the world 
knows not ; and oftentimes we call a man cold when he 
is only sad. Give not thy mind to heaviness; the glad- 
ness of the heart is the life of man, and joy fulness of 
a man prolongeth his days. Remove sorrow far from 
thee, for sorrow hath killed many, and there is no profit 
therein; and carefulness bringeth age before the time. 
Says Pope : 

" One truth is clear : whatever is, is right." 

Melancholy is but the shadow of too much happiness, 
thrown by our own spirits upon the sunshiny side of life. 
Look up and God will give you a song in your heart in- 
stead of a tear in your eye. Night brings out the stars 
as sorrows show us truths ; we never see the stars till 
we can see little or naught else — and thus it is with truth. 
When voufeel inclined to cry, just change your mind and 
laugh. Nothing dries sooner than tears. Sorrow, in its 
exaltation, has an instinctive sympathy with the suffer- 
ings of others. Shakspeare says : 

" Give sorrow words, the grief, that does not speak, 
Whispers the o'er fraught heart, and bids it break." 

We fancy that all our afflictions are sent us directly 
from above; sometimes we think it in piety and contri- 
tion, but often er in moroseness and discontent. It would 
be well, however, if we attempted to trace the cause of 
them ; we should probably find their origin in some 
region of the heart which we never had well explored, 
or in which we had secretly deposited our worst indul- 
gences. The clouds that intercept the heavens from us 
come not from the heavens, but from the earth. Excess 
of sorrow is as foolish as profuse laughter. Loud mirth, 
or immoderate sorrow, inequality of behavior, either in 
prosperity or adversity, are alike ungraceful in a man 
that is born to die. Some are refined, like gold, in the 
furnace ; others, like chaff, are consumed in it. Sorrow, 
when it is excessive, takes away fervor from piety, vigor 



382 sorrow. 

from action, health from body, light from reason, and 
repose from the conscience. 

" Receive what cheer you may ; 
The night is long, that never finds the day." 

To mourn without measure, is folly ; not to mourn at 
all, is insensibility. God says to the fruit tree, bloom and 
bear ; and to the human heart, bear and bloom — the soul's 
great blossoming is the flower of suffering. 

Sadness contracts the mind ; mirth dilates it. 

Sorrow is to youth what experience is to maturity. 

There are people who think that to be grim is to be 
good, and that a thought, to be really wholesome, must 
necessarily be shaped like a coffin. They seem to think 
that black is the color of heaven, and that the more they 
can make their faces look like midnight, the holier they 
are. 

" Sorrow is like a child that needs no nursing." 

Sorrows are like tempest clouds: when afar off, they 
look black, but when above us scarcely gray. Sorrow is 
the night of the mind. What would be a day without 
its night ? The day reveals one sun only ; the night 
brings to light the whole of the universe. The analogy 
is complete. Sorrow is the firmament of thought and the 
school of intelligence. 

Sorrow is one of God's own angels in the land. Her 
pruning-knife may not spare the tender buds of hope that 
make glad the garden of the soul, but her fingers sow 
the seeds of a quick sympathy with the woes of a com- 
mon humanity, which, springing into leaf, and bud, and 
blossom, send perfume and beauty into the waste-places 
of lonely lives, and permeate with fragrant incense the 
soil that gave them birth. 

Sorrow's mission is divine. At her touch the scales of 
selfishness fall from blinded human eyes; her breath dis- 
solves the mists that hang about the secrets of our being, 
and hitherto unknown possibilities are revealed to the 
life whose sweetest sweets are never yielded till from its 
heart the red blood flows as w^ine from the over-pressed 
grape. 



sorrow. 383 

They are true kings and queens, heroes and heroines, 
who, folding a pall of tenderest memory over the faces 
of their own lost hopes and perished loves, go with un- 
faltering courage, to grapple with the future, to strengthen 
the weak, to comfort the weary, to hang sweet pictures 
of faith and trust in the silent galleries of sunless lives, 
and to point the desolate, whose paths wind ever among 
shadows and over rocks where never the green moss 
grows, to the golden heights of the hereafter, where the 
palms of victory wave. 

Sorrow can never wholly fill the heart that is occupied 
with other's welfare. Constant melancholy is rebellion. 
He who has most of heart knows most of sorrow. 

Strangely do people talk of getting over a great 
sorrow! No one ever does that — at least, no nature 
which can be touched by a feeling of grief at all. The 
only way is to pass through the ocean of affliction 
solemnly, slowly, with humility and faith, as the Israelites 
passed through the sea. Then its very wave of misery 
will divide and become to us as a wall on the right side 
and the left, until the gulf narrows before our eyes, and 
we land safely on the opposite shore. 

Causeless depression is not to be reasoned with, nor 
can David's harp charm it away, by sweet discourse ngs. 
As well fight with the mist as with this shapeless, unde- 
finable, yet all-beclouding hopelessness. If those who 
laugh at such melancholy did but feel the grief of it, for 
one hour, their laughter would be sobered into compas- 
sion. Resolution might, perhaps, shake it off, but where 
are we to find the resolution, when the whole man is 
unstrung ? 

It is a fearful thing to see how some men are made worse 
by trial. It is terrible to watch sorrow as it sours the tem- 
per and works out into malevolence and misanthropy. 

It is a poor relief from sorrow to fly to the distractions 
of the world ; as well might a lost and wearied bird, sus- 
pended over the abyss of the tempestuous ocean, seek a 
resting place on its heaving waves, as the child of trouble 
seek a place of repose amid the bustling cares and intox- 
icating pleasures of earth and time. Make God thy rest. 



SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 

When we are dead there will be some honest sorrow. 
A few will be really sad, as we are robed for the grave. 
Fewer, probably than we now suppose. We are vain 
enough to think our departure will produce considerable 
sensation. But we over estimate it. Out of a small 
circle how soon shall we be forgotten ! A single leaf of 
a boundless forest has fallen ! That is all. 

The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone ; the solemn brood of care 
Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom. 

The world will go on without us. We may hare 
thought a very important wheel in the great machinery 
will be ungeared when we are gone. But the world goes 
clattering on as if nothing had happened. If we filled 
important stations in society ; if we have wondered what 
would, or could be done, if we were removed ; yet how 
soon others will fill our stations! The world will be a 
bustling active world without us. It was so before we 
entered it. It will be so when we are gone. 

When we are dead, affection may erect a monument. 
But the hand that set it up will soon be powerless as 
ours, and for the same cause. How soon they that weep 
over us will follow us! The monument itself will 
crumble, and it will fall on the dust that covers us. If 
the marble or the granite long endures, yet the eye of 
affection will not endure to read the graven letters. Men 
will give a glance at the name of one they never knew, 
and pass on with not a thought of the slumberer below. 

On my grassy grave 
The men of future time will careless tread 
And read my name upon the sculptured stone ; 
Nor will the sound, familiar to their ears, 
Recall my vanished memory. 

When we are dead our influence will not be dead. 
We leave epitaphs upon indestructible materials. Our 
manner of life has been writing them. We have stirred 

384 



SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 385 

up thought and awakened emotion. The wonderful 
machinery of mind has felt our presence. We have 
pressed the stamp of character into the warm wax of our 
moral sensibilities around us. Our places of business, our 
social resort, may know us no more ; but living account- 
able beings feel the influence that involves our personal 
departure. 

" The sorrow for the dead," says Irving, u is the only 
sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every 
other wound we seek to heal, every other affliction to 
forget ; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep 
open ; this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. 
" Where is the mother who would willingly forget 
the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, 
though every recollection is a pang? Where is the 
child that would willingly forget the most tender of 
parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, 
even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over 
whom he mourns ? Who, even when the tomb is closing 
upon the remains of her he most loved, when he feels his 
heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal, 
would accept of consolation that must be bought by for- 
getfulness ? 

" No; the love which survives the tomb is one of the 
noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has 
likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst 
of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, 
when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over 
the ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into 
pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its 
loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the 
heart? 

"Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over 
the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness 
over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even 
for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry ? No ; 
there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There 
is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even 
from the charms of the living". 

"Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, 
So 



386 SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 

covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment. 
From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets 
and tender recollections. Who can look upon the grave 
even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb that 
he should ever have warred with the poor handful of 
earth that lies mouldering before him? 

" But the grave of those we loved, what a place for 
meditation ! There it is that we call up in long review 
the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thou- 
sand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in 
the daily intercourse of intimacy. There it is that we 
dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness 
of the parting scene. 

" The bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noise- 
less attendants, its mute, watchful assiduities, the last 
testimonies of expiring love, the feeble, fluttering, thril- 
ling, oh, how thrilling ! pressure of the hand. The last 
fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from 
the threshold of existence. The faint, faltering accents 
struggling in death to give one more assurance of affec- 
tion. Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! 
There settle the account with thy conscience for every 
past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unre- 
garded, of that departed being who can never — never 
— never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! 

" If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to 
the soul or a furrow to the silver brow of an affectionate 
parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the 
fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy 
arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth ; 
if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, 
or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in 
thee ; if thou art a lover, and hast given one unmerited 
pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still be- 
neath thy feet; then be sure that every unkind look, every 
ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come throng- 
ing back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy 
soul; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and 
repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and 
pour the unavailing tear, more deep, more bitter, because 
unheard and unavailing. 



TEARS. 387 

"Then weave thy chaplet of flowers and strew the 
beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy broken 
spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile tributes 
of regret; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy 
contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth be more 
faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to 
the living." 



TEARS. 

There is a sadness in tears. They are not the marks of 
weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently 
than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of 
overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, of unspeakable 
love. If there were wanting any argument to prove that 
man is not mortal, I would look for it in the strong, con- 
vulsive emotion of the breast, when the soul has been 
deeply agitated ; when the fountains of feeling are rising, 
and when tears are gushing forth in crystal streams. 0, 
speak not harshly of the stricken one — weeping in silence ! 
Break not the solemnity by rude laughter, or intrusive 
footsteps. Despise not a woman's tears — they are what 
make her an angel. Scoff not if the stern heart of man- 
hood is sometimes melted to sympathy — they are what 
help to elevate him above the brute. I love to see tears 
of affection. They are painful tokens, but still most holy. 
There is pleasure in tears — an awful pleasure ! If there 
were none on earth to shed a tear for me, I should be 
loth to live ; and if no one might weep over my grave, 
I could never die in peace. 

Tears generally tremble in our eyes when we are happy, 
and glisten like pearls, or dew-drops on the flower cup ; 
but when we first realize any overwhelming and unlooked 
for happiness, we gaze round with a smile of bewildered 
ecstacy, and no tears tremble in our eyes. The extremes 
of joy and sorrow are too great, too deep for tears. 

It is a striking fact that the dying never weep. The 
sobbing, the heart-breaking agony of the circle of friends 
around the death-bed, call forth no responsive tears from 



388 GRIEF. 

the dying. Is it because he is insensible, and stiff in the 
chill of dissolution? That cannot be, for he asks for his 
father's hand, as if to gain strength in the mortal struggle, 
and leans on the breast of his mother, sister or brother, 
in still conscious affection. Just before expiring, he calls 
the loved ones, and with quivering lips says: — ''Kiss me," 
showing that the love which he has borne in his heart is 
still fresh and warm. It must be because the dying have 
reached a point too deep for earthly sorrows, too tran- 
scendant for weeping. They are face to face with higher 
and holier things, with the Father in Heaven and His 
angels. There is no weeping in that blessed abode to 
which the dying man is hastening. 



GRIEF. 

It is true that sore affliction makes the heart sad, but 
time will at length restore joy and serenity. As cheer- 
fulness promotes health and adds length to days, how im- 
portant, if grief must at any time be indulged, that the 
proper remedy be applied to assuage it. 

We find one sitting in solitude whose tearful eye and 
sad expression, bespeak the heart under sore opposition 
from grief The hand of sympathy is extended, but it 
is not recognized, and is therefore of no avail. We pass 
on, and again meet the individual. Time has not mel- 
lowed his anguish, and taken the cloud from his brow, 
and in place is a calmness and serenity that speak of dif- 
ferent feelings in the heart. What remedy is there for 
grief so effectual as Time ? 

There are griefs too sacred to be babbled to the world; 
and there may be loves which one would forbear to 
whisper even to a friend. Ileal grief is not clamorous. 
It seeks to shun every eye ; and breathes in solitude and 
silence the sighs that come from the heart. 

There is no grief without some beneficent provision to 
soften its intenseness. We may make of grief itself a 
fiery chariot for rising victorious over the causes of grief. 



MELANCHOLY. 389 

The grief of some men vents itself in ferocity and not in 
tears. The clouds of their hearts contain lightning but not 
rain. Grieve not for that which cannot be recalled. What 
a fine sentiment Kossuth expressed in his address at 
Southampton, when he said, referring to his own suffer- 
ings. a But I will not look to the past for griefs — only 
for instruction." There is no greater grief, says Dante, 
than to remember, in our misery, the happiness of the 
past. We suffer more from anger and grief, than from 
the very thing for which we anger and grieve. Nature 
has assigned two sovereign remedies for human grief: 
Religion, surest, firmest, first and best; strength to the 
weak, and to the wounded balm; and strenuous action 
next. 

Grief humbles to the dust; but also exalts to the 
clouds ; it shakes as with an ague, but also steadies like 
frost ; it sickens the heart, but also sickens its infirmities. 

Give to a grief a little time and it softens to regret 
and grows beautiful at last; and we cherish it as we do 
some old dim picture of the past. Time and thinking 
tame the strongest grief. 

Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness 
ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links 
than common joys. 

He who acquainteth others with his moan, 
Adds to his friend's grief, but not cures his own. 



MELANCHOLY. 

If we would habituate ourselves to look upon the 
pleasant side of things, to rejoice over what we have, 
and grieve not for what is not, we should find ourselves 
much more pleasantly handled than we usually are. 

We conceive it to be a shame, and, when regarded in its 
connections, a sin, to be moping about under such bright 
skies and over such pleasant fields with " the blues" on. 
Boys should be taught to cover up their melancholy 
thoughts as they would bury out of sight their dead 



390 DESPAIR. 

canaries. Girls should be educated to the notion that 
" the demps" are not genteel, and that to be sad when 
there are no good grounds for it, is vulgar. u Just as the 
tree is bent," &c. A generation we hope for, who will 
hold it a religious duty to reflect the happy face of nature 
from their happy faces. Everything so universally wheels 
into the right line at last, and proves that "it is all for 
the best," that we verily believe a long face ought to be 
put down as a nuisance in the street, and a bore within 
doors; and if that were not sufficient to abate it, let it 
be authoritatively announced that it will be considered 
the black flag thrown out as a token of an evil conscience. 
Sorrow is sacred, and grief is not always to be avoided. 
But melancholy is a humbug, a sham, an improper thing 
generally, and a very unpleasant mental habit. 

Melancholy falls upon a contented mind like a drop of 
ink upon white paper — which is none the less a stain be- 
cause it carries no meaning. Melancholy attends on the 
best joys of a merely ideal life. 



DESPAIR. 

Boast not thyself of to-morrow; thou knowest not what 
a day may bring forth, and, for the same reason, despair 
not of to-morrow, for it may bring forth good as well as 
evil ; which is a ground for not vexing thyself with im- 
aginary fears ; for the impending black cloud, which is 
regarded with so much dread, may pass by harmless. 
Beware of desperate steps; the darkest day may by to- 
morrow have passed away. Despondency is the last of 
all evils, it is the abandonment of all good, giving up the 
battle of life with dead nothingness. He who can infuse 
courage into the soul is the best physician. 

The great secret of avoiding disappointment is not to 
expect too much. Despair follows immoderate hope, as 
things fall hardest to the ground that have been nearest 
the sky. How many a man, by throwing himself to the 
ground in despair, crushes and destroys a thousand 



DESPAIR. 391 

flowers of hope that were ready to spring up and gladden 
his pathway. With time, patience and labor, the plain 
mulberry leaf at last becomes glossy satin. They who 
are most weary of life, and yet are most unwilling to die, 
are such who have lived to no purpose ; who have rather 
breathed than lived. 

There are dark hours that mark the history of the 
brightest years. For not a whole month in any of the 
thousand of the past, perhaps, has the sun shone brill- 
iantly all the time. And there have been cold and 
stormy days in every year. And yet the mists and 
shadows of the darkest hours were dissipated, and flitted 
heedlessly away. The cruelest ol the ice fetters have 
been broken and dissolved, and the most furious storm 
loses it power to alarm. What a parable is all this of 
human fear, of our inside w^orld, where the heat works 
at its destined labor. Here, too, we have the over- 
shadowing of dark hours, and many a cold blast chills the 
heart to its core. 

But what matters it ? Man is born a hero, and it is 
only by darkness and storms that heroism gains its great- 
est and best development and illustration; then it kindles 
the black cloud into a blaze of glory, and the storm bears 
it rapidly to its destiny. Despair not, then, disappoint- 
ment will be realized. Mortifying failure may attend 
this effort and that one ; but only be honest and struggle 
on, and it will all work well. 

What though once-supposed friends have disclaimed 
and deserted you — fortune, the jade, deceived you — and 
the stern tyrant, adversity, roughly asserted his despotic 
power to trample you down? " While there's life there's 
hope." Has detraction's busy tongue assailed thy peace 7 
and contumely's venomed shaft poisoned thy happiness, 
by giving reputation its death blow ; — destroyed thy 
confidence in friendly promise, and rendered thee suspi- 
cious of selfishness in the exhibition of brotherly kindness; 
or the tide of public opinion well nigh overwhelmed you 
'neath its angry waves? Never despair. Yield not to. 
the influence of sadness, the blighting power of dejection, 
which sinks you in degrading inaction, or drives you to 



392 DESPAIR. 

seek relief in some fatal viee, or to drown recollection in 
the poisoning bowl. Arouse, and shake the oppressive 
burden from overpowering thee. Quench the stings of 
slander in the waters of Lethe — bury despondency in 
oblivion — fling melancholy to the winds, and with firm 
bearing and a stout heart push on to the attainment of a 
higher goal. The open field for energetic action is large, 
and the call for vigorous laborers immensely exceed the 
supply. Much precious time is squandered, valuable 
labor lost, mental activity stupefied and deadened by 
vain regrets, useless repinings, and unavailing idleness. 
The appeal for volunteers in the great battle of life, in 
exterminating ignorance and error, and planting high on 
an everlasting foundation the banner of intelligence and 
right, is directed to you, would you but grant it audi- 
ence. Let no cloud again darken thy spirit, or weight of 
sadness oppress thy heart. Arouse ambition's smoldering 
fires. The laurel may e'en now be wreathed, destined 
to grace thy brow. Burst the trammels that impede thy 
progress, and cling to hope. The world frowned darkly 
upon all who have ever yet won Fame's wreath, but on 
they toiled. Place high thy standard, and with a firm 
tread and fearless eye press steadily onward. Persevere, 
and thou wilt surely reach it. Are there those who 
have watched, unrewarded, through long sorrowful 
years, for the dawning of a brighter morrow, when the 
weary soul should calmly rest ? Hope's bright rays still 
illume their dark pathways, and cheerfully yet they 
watch. Never despair ! Faint not, though thy task be 
heavy, and victory is thine. None should despair; God 
can help them. None should presume ; God can cross 
them. 

In the city of Munich, kingdom of Bavaria, dwelt, 
some sixty or seventy years ago, a young man, an actor, 
who, in one of his performances, so utterly and com- 
pletely failed,' that the enraged and disappointed mana- 
ger peremptorily dismissed and turned him away to earn 
his living elsewhere. Sad, unutterably sad, and heavy 
was the youn^ man's heart, as lie went for the last time 
from the theater; and well misrht he be so, for in a dreary 



DESPAIR. 393 

lane toward which he now bent his footsteps, stood one 
of those old dilapidated buildings, the abode of misery, 
poverty, and want, within whose walls, away up in a 
wretched garret, was all that his heart held most dear. 
There lay the corpse of his father; there a widowed 
mother looked up to him as her only stay and support ; there 
waited for his coming a group of little brothers and sis- 
ters, dependent on him for daily bread. 0, how bowed 
down was the heart of this poor youth! With the few 
crowns he had left in his pocket, he bought bread for the 
hungry family, and a plain coffin for the departed. That 
night saw him a watcher by the side of his lost father. 
In the morning he followed his remains to a lonely grave, 
and then wandered off to assuage, if possible his grief. 
Strolling on the banks of a neighboring river, he thought, 
in his despair, of throwing himself in ; but a moment's 
thought checked him, and, shuddering at the thought of 
the great crime he had been tempted to commit — that of 
suicide — he fell on his knees and asked forgiveness of his 
Heavenly Father, and prayed long and earnestly. At 
last, quite worn out, and completely overcome by mental 
distress and bodily fatigue, he lay down on the grass and fell 
asleep — sleeping long and heavily. When he awoke 
with the morning sun, the birds were singing merrily, as 
though returning thanks to their Creator in songs of praise ; 
the river still flowed peacefully on in its course, the trees 
shook their leaves in the summer's breeze, and all nature 
looked beautiful. Thanking God that he was still alive, 
he rose to return to the city. But a small white chalk- 
stone pebble caught his eye, and on it was an exquisite 
tracing or outline of some little creature. Here was a 
subject for thought and study. He examined it long and 
attentively, and finally took it home with him. He ex- 
perimented, and at length saw the possibility of obtain- 
ing impressions from stone. Continuing his experiments, 
he succeeded so well that from the little white pebble 
finally rose the art of Lithography. His name was 
Aloise Senefelder. Remember this, that God always helps 
those that help themselves, that he never forsakes those 
who are good and true, and that he heareth even the young 



394 TEMPTATION. 

ravens when they cry. Moreover, remember too, that 
come what may, we must never give up in life's battle, 
but press onward to the end, always keeping in mind the 

WOrds — NEVER DESPAIR. 

Despair is the death of the soul. If we will sympathize 
with God's system of salvation, there is no occasion for 
despondency or a feeling of condemnation, as we discover 
our defects from time to time; but, on the other hand, 
of cheerful hopefulness, and confidence of this very thing, 
that "He who hath begun a good work in us will perform 
it until the day of Jesus Christ." 



TEMPTATION. 

The young man, as he passes through life, advances 
through a long line of tempters ranged on either side of 
him ; and the inevitable effect of yielding is degradation 
in a greater or less degree. Contact with them tends 
insensibly to draw away from him some portion of the 
divine electric element with which his nature is charged ; 
and his only mode of resisting them is to utter and to act 
out his "No" manfully and resolutely. He must decide 
at once, not waiting to deliberate and balance rea- 
sons; for the youth, like " the woman who deliberates, 
is lost." Many deliberate without deciding; but "not to 
resolve is to resolve." A perfect knowledge of man is 
in the prayer, " Lead us not into temptation." But temp- 
tation will come to try the young man's strength, and 
once yielded to, the power to resist grows weaker and 
weaker. Yield once, and a portion of virtue is gone. 
Resist manfully, and the first decision will give strength 
tor life ; repeated it will become a habit. It is in the 
outworks of the habits formed in early life that the real 
strength of the defence must lie; for it has been wisely 
ordained, that the machinery of moral existence should 
be carried on principally through the medium of the 
habits, so as to save the wear and tear of the great prin- 
ciples within. It is good habits, which insinuate them- 



TEMPTATION. 395 

selves into the thousand inconsiderable acts of life, that 
really constitute by far the greater part of man's moral con- 
duct. That fly which has been hovering and humming 
around our lamp for some time, to our great annoyance and 
disturbance, and to his own manifest though seemingly 
unperceived peril, has at length darted frantically into the 
flame — and then follows the catastrophe; a loud singing 
and hissing sound, and down he goes to the table, and 
lies there on his back, a wingless and legless wretch, spin- 
ning and buzzing, and screaming (as well as flies can 
scream) in his torture and helplessness. It is a sad sight, 
but it can't be helped. When we drove him away from 
the flame, back he came to it again, and there he is. Poor 
fellow ! its all over with him. For what is a fly good for 
without legs or wings? Now, as he lies there writhing 
before us, let us see if we cannot make — (last product of 
folly and misery) — a moral out of him. Here it is : Be- 
ware of temptation ! What is that brilliant light into which 
you are gazing with charmed eyes, and round which you 
are careeriug in circles which grow less with every revo- 
lution ? It is the fire of passion. Whether it be drink 
or gaming, or any of the many forms of coarse and low 
excitement, — if you continue to gaze into it, and hover 
round it, you will presently fling yourself into it with frantic 
abandonment, and then you will fall from the flame, like 
that poor fly, without limbs to work or wings to soar — 
despoiled of every useful energy, every noble aspiration 
— a mere scorched and wretched remnant of a man. 
Many a gay and gaudy fly has had his legs and wings 
scorched off in one night's careering around the lights on 
the gaming-table. Others have found the same fate in 
the sparkling flow of the wine-cup, or in the maddening 
excitement of the midnight revel, or the eye of woman, 
fallen from virtue, and acquiring, in her deep degradation, 
at once the malignity and the power of a demon. All 
these belong, thus far, to the same category with this 
poor insect on my table — (for, now I see, his buzzing and 
spinning has ceased — he is still and dead). They, too, 
are dazzled to death ! Break away, then, from the charmed 
circle. Shut your eyes and turn your back to the fatal 



396 TEMPTATION. 

fascination. One manly effort, and you are your own 
master again. Go forth into the pure, cool, wholesome 
air. Sober your senses, brace up your energies by useful 
toil and innocent enjoyments. The world is full of them. 
Home, nature, the pursuit of knowledge, any career of 
honorable exertion, minister excitements which are as 
wholesome as they are pleasurable. They prolong life 
while they cheer and ennoble it. The ways of wisdom 
are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. 
She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her. 
Length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand 
riches and honors. 

The path is smooth that leadeth to danger. Beware 
lest thou be led into temptation. There is a charm in 
danger, a fascination in the look of death, which often 
allures brave men from the path of duty. Men and 
women are often er ruined by brilliancy than by dullness. 
If sinners entice thee, consent thou not. If you cannot 
resist sin, then avoid temptation. 

He who avoids temptation avoids the sin. 

He that would not fall into temptation must have a 
presence of mind, a watchful eye over himself; he must 
have great things in view, distinguish betwixt time and 
eternity; or else he will follow what passion, not what 
reason and religion, suggest. Despise not little tempta- 
tions; rightly met they have often nerved the character 
for some fiery trial. Keep yourself from opportunities, 
and God will keep you from sins. The difference be- 
tween those whom the world esteems as good, and those 
whom it condemns as bad, is in many cases that the for- 
mer have been better sheltered from temptation. John 
Newton says: " Satan seldom comes to a Christian with 
great temptations, or with a temptation to commit a great 
sin. You bring a green log and a candle together, and 
they are very safe neighbors ; but bring a few shavings 
and set them alight, and then bring a few small sticks 
and let them take fire, and .the log be in the midst of 
them, and you will soon get rid of your log. And so it 
is with your little sins. You will be startled with the 
idea of committing a great sin, and so the devil brings 



TEMPTATION. 



397 



you a little temptation, and leaves you to indulge your- 
self. " There is no great harm in this," a no great peril 
in that," and so by these little chips we are first easily 
lighted up, and at last the green log is burned. "Watch 
and pray that ye enter not into temptation." An intel- 
ligent man will not yield to petty temptations like an 
ignorant one; and great temptations do not often con- 
quer until the moral integrity has been previously sapped 
by minor delinquencies. Temptation assails us in every 
form, from the low and sensual appetite working upon 
the baser feelings of our nature, to the high and lofty, 
but no less sinful passions of ambition, which, leaving 
the more sordid minds as unworthy of attack, assails 
only the noblest natures, and unless manfully with- 
stood, but too surely causes a being but little lower than 
the angels to sink from his proper sphere, and by the 
abuse of his talents, prostrate his highest hopes for the 
mere applause of man. The greatest victory of man is 
that achieved over the difficulties and trials that beset 
him; and he who overcomes the worldly feelings within 
him, is mightier than the conquerors of armies, even could 
he subjugate the whole earth. Resist a temptation till 
you conquer it. 

We gain strength from conquering strong temptations, 
just as the Sandwich Islander thinks that the strength and 
valor of the enemy he kills pass into himself. 

We must never be astonished at temptations, be they 
ever so outrageous. On this earth all is temptation. 
Crosses tempt us by irritating our pride, and prosperity 
by flattering it. Our life is a continual combat, but one 
in which Jesus Christ fights for us. We must pass on 
unmoved while temptations rage around us, as the trav- 
eler, overtaken by a storm, simply wraps his cloak more 
closely about him, and rushes on more vigorously toward 
his destined home. 

If you have been tempted to evil, fly from it ; it is not 
falling into the water, but lying in it, that drowns. 

' Tis wisdom to beware, 
And better to avoid the bait than struggle in the snare. — Detdkn. 

If angels fell, why should not men beware. — Young. 

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
Makes ill deeds done. — Shak. 



DEBT. 

A recent philosopher discovered a method to avoid 
being dunned ! <l How? how? how?" every body asks. — 
u Never run in debt' 1 A man who has no bills against 
him, belongs to the order of no-bil-i-ty, in more than one 
sense. Debt is the worst kind of poverty. Credit never 
permits a man to know the real value of money, nor to 
have full control over his affairs. It presents all his ex- 
penses in the aggregate, and not in detail. Every one 
has more or less of the miser's love of money — of the 
actual gold pieces and the crisp bank notes. Now, if you 
have these things in your pocket, you see them, as you 
make your purchases, visibly diminishing under your eye. 
The lessening heap cries to you to stop. You would 
like to buy this, that, and the other; but you know 
exactly how much money you have left, and if you go on 
buying more things, your purse will soon be empty. 
You do not see this when you take credit. You give 
your orders freely, without thought or calculation ; and 
when the day of payment comes, you find that you have 
overrun the constable. 

On every hand we see people living on credit, putting 
off pay day to the last, making in the end some desperate 
effort, either by begging or borrowing, to scrape the 
money together, and then struggling on again, with the 
canker of care eating at their heart, to the inevitable 
goal of bankruptcy. If people would only make a push 
at the beginning, instead of the end, they would save 
themselves all this misery. The great secret of being 
solvent, and well-to-do, and comfortable, is to get ahead 
of your expenses. Eat and drink this month what you 
earned last month — not what you are going to earn next 
month. There are, no doubt, many persons so unfortu- 
nately situated that they can never accomplish this. No 
man can to a certainty guard against ill health ; no man 
can insure himself a well-conducted, helpful family, or a 
permanent income. There will always be people who 



DEBT. 399 

cannot help their misfortunes; but, as a rule, these un- 
fortunates are far less trouble to society than those in a 
better position who bring their misfortunes upon them- 
selves by deliberate recklessness and extravagances. You 
may help a poor, honest, struggling man to some purpose, 
but the utmost you can do for an unthrift is thrown away. 
You give him money you have earned by hard labor — 
he spends it in pleasure, which you have never permitted 
yourself to enjoy. Some people use one-half their inge- 
nuity to get into debt, and the other half to avoid paying 
it. An old merchant gives this sound advice: ""Never 
owe any more than you are able to pay, and allow no man 
to owe you any more than you are able to lose." 

The best pleasures — those which sweeten life most, 
and leave no bitterness behind, — are cheap pleasures. 
What greater pleasure can man enjoy than the sense of 
being free and independent? The man with his fine 
house, his glittering carriage, and his rich banquets, for 
which he is in debt, is a slave, a prisoner, forever drag- 
ging his chains behind him through all the grandeur of 
the false world through which he moves. "Owe no 
man anything," was the injunction of a Christian Apostle. 
If we were to express the sentiment, we should prefer 
the motto of John Randolph, "Pay as you go," because 
it is more explicit. Owe men we must, in all the 
courtesies and kindnesses which belong to and grace hu- 
manity ; it is a debt collateral with our being — an obliga- 
tion of our nature — therefore the Apostle was not defi- 
nite enough, (not that he was at fault,' but rather the 
translator,) but Randolph hit the mark when he confined 
his maxim to debts pecuniary, which men, under the 
present order of thing's, are liable to incur. He touched 
with a healthy philosophy one of the greatest and com- 
monest of society evils. 

We take it for granted that, as a general rule, debts 
pecuniary are contracted to be paid, sooner or later. As 
a general rule, their burthen is least the sooner they are 
paid. Interest, usury, dependence, law-suits and costs of 
many kinds, that hang over standing and litigated debts, 
add, if we could but get at their total in this country for 



400 DEBT. 

a single year, millions of dollars to the original obliga- 
tions. Friendships are broken over debts; forgeries and 
murders are committed on their account ; and, however 
considered, they are a source of cost and annoyance — and 
that continually. They break in everwhere upon the 
harmonious relations of men ; they render men servile or 
tyrannous, as they chance to be debtors or creditors; 
they blunt sensitiveness to personal independence, and, 
in no respect that we can fathom, do they advance the 
general well-being. The rich have no excuse for not 
paying as they go, and the poor depend upon the pay- 
ments of the rich to make their own ends meet. It is a 
shameful fact of the credit system, that the rich presume 
upon credit, and abuse it far more than the poor. Blessed 
will be the day when all men pay as they go. 

Somebody truly says that one debt begets an other. 
If a man owes you a dollar, he is sure to owe you a 
grudge, too, and he is generally more ready to pay 
interest on the latter than on the former. 

Neither farmer, mechanic, nor anybody else, should run 
up bills from week to week for food and clothing, but 
should make a point of paying for his subsistence as he 
may require it. The neglect of this rule is one main 
cause of the prevalence of extravagance, overtrading 
and general insolvency, frequently resulting in mercantile 
bankruptcy and general revulsion. The humble culti- 
vator who owes for half his farm and cannot turn off more 
then two or three hundred dollars worth per annum out 
of which one hundred dollars must be paid as interest on 
his debt, is often tempted by the facility of obtaining 
credit, to buy silks and satins for his wife and daughters, 
broadcloth and fine boots for his sons, or allow them to 
buy such for themselves on his account, when he can by 
no means afford such expenditures. It is the duty of the 
true merchant to resist and correct this tendency, by 
insisting on prompt payment for all purchases, except 
under peculiar circumstances. Cash should be the gen- 
eral rule ; credit the rare exception. The poor man who 
has encountered some sudden and severe calamity, such 
as the burning of his house or the destruction of his crops 



DEBT. 401 

by hurricane or flood, may very properly be proffered 
credit for a season at cash prices ; so may the poor widow 
whose children, this year at school, will be earning wages 
and able to help her next season. But in all ordinary 
cases the merchant, if only from a patriotic regard for 
the general well-being, should inflexibly refuse to sell on 
credit, since such selling is, and ever must be, to the un- 
circunispect majority, a temptation and facility for gen- 
eral improvidence and overtrading. Mr. President, said 
the eccentric John Randolph, interrupting himself in one 
of his senatorial diatribes, I have discovered the Philoso- 
pher's stone ! It consists of four short words of homely 
English — Pay as you go ! 

Traders are sometimes so eager to get customers, and 
so fearful that rival houses will get a portion of their 
trade, that they give credit to Tom, Dick, and Harry, 
and "take the risk" of getting their pay. When a man 
wants credit, you should question him closely and point- 
edly as to his present position, capital, and means, write 
down his replies, require him to sign the statement, and 
then, if at all, sell him the goods he wants, on that state- 
ment. If, under such circumstances, he deceives you, 
you can proceed against him for fraud, and turn the 
thumbscrews on him until he pays your bill. A mer- 
chant, jobber, or importer, who is weak enough to sell 
goods to unsafe men, on credit, because he is afraid some 
rival will "get his custom away," deserves to be a loser. 

General Jackson remarked, that "men who do business 
on borrowed capital ought to fail." Though this hard- 
hearted maxim has been denounced beyond measure, it 
certainly has the sanction of Providence, for they nearly 
all do fail. The statistics of General Dearborn show that 
out of every hundred men who do a credit business, 
ninety-seven become bankrupt. Famous financiers are 
especially certain to fail. We never knew one, from Nich- 
olas Biddie down, who did not finally run out. The 
really shrewd and thrifty men, such as A. T. Stewart and 
James Gordon Bennett, never have any occasion to bor- 
row money — to financier. Financiering is simple — and 
they are simple who practice it. 



402 DEBT. 

" Of what a hideous progeny of ill, "says Douglas Jerrold, 
"is debt the father! What meanness, what invasions of 
self-respect, what cares, what double-dealing! How in 
due season, it will carve the frank, open face into wrinkles; 
how like a knife it will stab the honest heart. And then 
its transformations. How it has been known to change 
a goodly face into a mask of brass; how with the evil 
custom of debt, has the true man become a callous trick- 
ster! A freedom from debt, and what nourishing sweet- 
ness may be found in cold water ; what toothsomeness 
in a dry crust ; what ambrosial nourishment in a hard egg ! 
Be sure of it, he who dines out of debt, though his meal 
be a biscuit and an onion, dines in " The Apollo." And 
then, for raiment, what warmth in a threadbare coat, if 
the tailor's receipt be in your pocket ! what Tyrian purple 
in the faded waistcoat, the vest not owed for ; how glossy 
the well worn hat, if it covers not the aching head of a 
debtor ! Next the home sweets, the out door recreation 
of the free man. The street door falls not a knell on his 
heart ; the foot of the staircase, though he lives on the 
third pair, sends no spasms through his anatomy ; at the 
rap of his door he can crow " come in," and his pulse 
still beats healthfully, his heart sinks not in his bowels. 
See him abroad! How he returns look for look with any 
passenger; how he saunters; now meeting an acquaint- 
ance, he stands and gossips, but then this man knows no 
debt ; debt that casts a drug in the richest wine ; that 
makes the food of the gods unwholesome, indigestible ; 
that sprinkles the banquets of a Lucullus with ashes, and 
drops soot in the soup of an emperor; debt that like the 
moth, makes valueless furs and velvets, enclosing the 
wearer in a festering prison, (the shirt of Nessus was a 
shirt not paid for;) debt that writes upon frescoed halls 
the handwriting of the attorney; that puts a voice of 
terror in the knocker; that makes the heart quake at the 
haunted fireside; debt, the invisible demon that walks 
abroad with a man, now quickening his steps, now making 
him look on all sides like a hunted beast, and now bring- 
ing to his face the ashy hue of death as the unconscious 
passenger looks glancingly upon him ! Poverty is a bit- 



DEBT. 403 

ter draught, yet may, and sometimes can with advantage, 
be gulped down. Though the drinker makes wry faces, 
there may, after all, be a wholesome goodness in the cup. 
But debt, however courteously it may be offered, is the 
cup of Syren ; and the wine, spiced and delicious though 
it be, is poison. The man out of debt, though with a 
flaw in his jerkin, a crack in his shoe leather, and a hole 
in his hat, is still the son of liberty, free as the singing 
lark above him; but the debtor, although clothed in the 
utmost bravery, what is he but a serf out upon a holiday 
■ — a slave to be reclaimed at any instant by his owner, 
the creditor? My son, if poor, see wine in the running 
spring ; see thy mouth water at a last week's roll ; think 
a threadbare coat the only wear; and acknowledge a 
whitewashed garret the fittest housing place for a gentle- 
man ; do this, and flee debt. So shall thy heart be at 
rest and the sheriff confounded." 

Of all the safeguards that young men can provide 
themselves with, we know of none that is a prophylactic 
against more troubles than a rule firmly laid down, and 
resolutely adhered to, never to go in debt. It will re- 
quire no small amount of courage and self-denial to live 
up to it; but, in the end, the result will compensate for 
all troubles and sacrifices. The rule will bring its own 
reward. It is the easiest . thing in the world to get in 
debt ; it is one of the hardest things in the world to get 
out after once getting in ; and it is a task of no small dif- 
ficulty to keep out. John Randolph said that the philos- 
opher's stone was comprised in the words; "Pay as you 
go;" audit is certain that if the rule were made an in- 
flexible law in ordinary human dealings, it would bring 
more peace and comfort to mankind than all the elixirs, 
transmuters, solvents and stones that are likely to be 
found in the alchemist's alembic. Keeping out of debt 
is not so much a positive advantage as it is a protection 
against incalculable disadvantages — -though the emphatic 
satisfaction and freedom which a debtless man feels in 
daily contrasting his condition with those who are embar- 
rassed with obligations is not to be lightly thought of. 
These troubles of a debtor are myriad, and they assail 



404 DEBT. 

their victim every hour of the day. They turn his youth 
into age before its time ; they make him thoughtful and 
anxious when he should be gay and cheerful; they take 
the light out of his eye, and the bloom out of his cheek; 
they obtrude a spector into all his enjoyments; they re- 
mind him that he is laboring for another than himself, 
and that the fruits of his labor are not his own. His 
honest sweat belongs to another; his triumphs and suc- 
cess must be shared by some one else ; his hands and 
head are mortgaged ; in short, he is half a slave. The in- 
terest on his debts never slumbers ; it goes on accumulat- 
ing every hour of the day, and night, and every day of 
the week, through sickness, misfortune and idleness, with 
the pitilessness of an inexorable enemy ; and even when 
the poor debtor has succeeded in keeping even with the 
interest, the principal remains in its original bulk, unre- 
duced a single dollar. A man in debt never knows what 
he is worth, nor how he is getting along; he is liable to a 
constant delusion. He imagines he is properous, when 
he is succeeding in making money for another. He im- 
agines he owns the home his family live in, when, in fact, 
it may belong to some one else; and he cherishes the 
fond fraud on himself till the remorseless mortgage, or 
deed of trust comes and sweeps all away. Good credit 
is a treasure ; but the chief advantage of it is in having 
it, not using it. Any person, whether rich or poor, 
whether employer or employed, whether living in the 
city or country, that cherishes a desire to enjoy anything 
which he or she has not fairly and squarely earned the 
right to enjoy, is doomed to unrest, infelicity, discomfort 
and unhappiness in this world, and a sharp chance for a 
residence in the torrid zone of the future. There is no 
discount on this — not a mill, not a moment. Let the 
reader look honestly into his or her own heart and life 
and experience thus far in the world, and see how abso- 
lutely and relentlessly true this is. 

We read a few years since in the Buffalo Express, the 
following: A friend called upon us yesterday morning, 
and paid a small balance due with this remark: — u Ihave 
watched with peculiar interest the late trial of Prof. Web- 



DEBT. 405 

ster for the murder of Dr. Parkman — I have read the tes- 
timony attentively and carefully to satisfy myself of the 
guilt or innocence of the accused, and of the motive 
which prompted the act, if guilt should be established. 
The man has been convicted. His trouble and disgrace 
has been brought upon him by being in debt, I have 
firmly resolved, as God will aid me in the effort, to owe 
no man anything." We were struck with the impression 
this lesson had made upon the mind, and could but se- 
cretly and fervently wish that its teachings might become 
universally effective. '"Pay as you go," is a golden 
maxim. Eschew tea, coffee, tobacco, new dresses, new 
coats, new carriages and everything in the line of luxu- 
ries, until you can pay ready money. Money cheapens 
everything. It is a great economizer. You think twice 
and buy cheap with the ready cash. People who run 
store debts, buy thoughtlessly many things not needed, 
and at high prices. Owe no man anything. 

Mr. Spurgeon tells this of his early life : 

" When I was a very small boy. in pinafores, and went 
to a woman's school, it so happened that I wanted a slate- 
pencil, and had no money to buy it with. I was afraid 
of being scolded for losing my pencils so often, for I was 
a careless little fellow, and so did not care to ask at home ; 
what, then, was I to do? There was a little shop in the 
place, where nuts, tops, cakes, and balls, were sold by 
old Mrs. Dearson; and sometimes I had seen boys and 
girls get trusted by the old lady. I argued with myself 
that Christmas was coming, and that somebody or other 
would be sure to give me a penny then, and perhaps 
even a whole silver sixpence. I would, therefore, go into 
debt for a slate-pencil, and be sure to pay at Christmas. 
I did not feel easy about it, but still I screwed my cour- 
age up, and went into the shop. One farthing was the 
amount ; and as I had never owed anything before, and 
my credit was good, the pencil was handed over by the 
kind dame, and I was in debt. It did not please me 
much, and I felt as if I had done wrong ; but I little knew 
how soon I should smart for it. How my father came to 
hear of this little stroke of business I never knew, but 



406 DEBT. 

some little bird or other whistled it to him, and he was 
very soon down upon me in right earnest. God bless 
him for it ; he was a sensible man, and none of your chil- 
dren-spoilers ; he did not intend to bring up his children 
to speculate, and play at what big rogues call financiering, 
and he therefore knocked my getting into debt on the 
head at once, and no mistake. He gave me a very pow- 
erful lecture upon getting into debt, and how like it was 
to stealing, and upon the way in which people were ru- 
ined by it; and how a boy who would owe a farthing 
might one day owe a hundred pounds, and get into prison, 
and bring his family to disgrace. It was a lecture, indeed ; 
I think I can hear it now, and feel my ears tingling at the 
recollection of it. Then I marched off to the shop, like 
a deserter marched into barracks, crying bitterly all down 
the street, and feeling dreadfully ashamed, because I 
thought everybody knew that I was in debt. The farth- 
ing was paid amid many solemn warnings, and the poor 
debtor was set free, like a bird out of a cage. How 
sweet it felt to be out of debt! How did my little heart 
vow and declare that nothing should tempt me into debt 
again! It was a fine lesson, and I have never forgotten it." 

It makes a great difference whether you put Dr. before 
or after a man's name. 

The proverb says that "an empty bag cannot stand 
upright ;" neither can a man who is in debt. Debt makes 
everything a temptation. It lowers a man in self-respect, 
places him at the mercy of his tradesmen and his servant, 
and renders him a slave in many respects, for he can no 
longer call himself his own master, nor boldly look the 
world in the face. It is also difficult for a man who is in 
debt, to be truthful, hence it is said that lying rides on 
debt's back. The debtor has to frame excuses to his 
creditor, for postponing payment of the money he owes 
him ; and probably also to contrive falsehood. It is easy 
enough for a man who will exercise a healthy resolution, 
to avoid incurring the first obligation ; but the facility 
with which that has been incurred often becomes a temp- 
tation to a second ; and very soon the unfortunate bor- 
rower becomes so entangled that no late exertion of in- 



DEBT. 407 

dustry can set him free. The first step in debt is like the 
first step in falsehood; almost involving the necessity of 
proceeding in the same course, debt after debt, as lie fol- 
lows lie. Hay den the painter, dated his decline from the 
day on which he first borrowed money. He realized the 
truth of the proverb, u Who goes a-borrowing, goes a- 
sorrowing." The significant entry in his diary is: "Here 
began debt and obligation, out of which I have never 
been and never shall be extricated as long as I live." Dr. 
Johnson held that early debt is ruin. His words on the 
subject are weighty, and worthy of being held in remem- 
brance. u Do not," said he, " accustom yourself to con- 
sider debt only as an inconvenience; you will find it a 
calamity. Poverty takes away so many means of doing 
good, and produces so much inability to resist evil, both 
natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means to be 
avoided. Let it be your first care, then, not to be in any 
man's debt. Resolve not to be poor; whatever you have, 
spend less. Poverty is a great enemy to human happi- 
ness; it certainly destroys liberty; and it makes some vir- 
tues impracticable and others extremely difficult. Fru- 
gality is not only the basis of quiet, but of beneficence. 
No man can help others that wont help himself; we must 
have enough before we have to spare." 

It is the bounden duty of every man to look his affairs 
in the face, and to keep an account of his incomings and 
outgoings in money-matters. The exercise of a little 
simple arithmetic in this way will be found of great value. 
Prudence requires that we shall pitch our scale of living 
a degree below our means, rather than up to them ; but 
this can only be done by carrying out faithfully a plan 
of living by which both ends may be made to meet. 
" Nothing," said Locke, " is likelier to keep a man within 
compass than having constantly before his eyes the state 
of his affairs in a regular course of account." Said the 
Duke of Wellington, " I make it a point of paying my 
own bills, and I advise every one to do the same ; for- 
merly I used to trust a confidential servant to pay them, 
but I was cured of that folly by receiving one morning 
to my great surprise, duns of a year or two's standing. 



408 DEBT. 

The fellow had speculated with my money, and left my 
bills unpaid." Talking of debt, his remark was, "It 
makes a slave of a man. I have often known what it 
was to be in want of money, but I never got into debt." 
Washington was one of the most particular persons in 
matters of business detail; and it is a remarkable fact, 
that he did not disdain to scrutinize the smallest outgo- 
ings of his household — determined as he was to live hon- 
estly within his means — even while holding the high 
office of President of the United States. 

A British Admiral, (Earl St. Vincent,) has told the 
following story of his early struggles, and determination 
t o keep out of debt : " My father had a very large family, 
said he, "with limited means. He gave me twenty 
pounds at starting, and that was all he ever gave me. 
After I had been a considerable time at the station (at 
sea), I drew for twenty more, but the bill came back pro- 
tested. I was mortified at this rebuke, and made a 
promise, which I have kept, that I would never draw an- 
other bill without a certainty of its being paid. I imme- 
diately changed my mode of living, quitted my mess, 
lived alone, and took up the ship's allowance, which I 
found quite sufficient; washed and mended my own 
clothes; made a pair of trousers out of the ticking of 
my bed; and having by these means saved as much 
money as would redeem my honor, I took up my bill ; 
and from that time to this I have taken care to keep 
within my means." For six years he endured pinching 
privation, but preserved his integrity, studied his profes- 
sion with success, and gradually and steadily rose by 
merit and bravery to the highest rank. Samuel Drew 
thus describes his first lesson in economy : " When I was 
a boy, I somehow got a few pence, and coming into St. 
Austell on a fair day, laid all out on a purse. My empty 
purse then reminded me of my folly; and the recollec- 
tion has since been as useful to me as Franklin's whistle 
was to him." 

Sir Charles Napier held that the habit of being con- 
stantly in debt made men grow callous to the proper feel- 
ings of a gentleman. Says D'Israeli, " If youth but knew 



DEBT. 



409 



the fatal misery that they are entailing on themselves, 
the moment they aceept a pecuniary credit, to which they 
are not entitled, how they would start in their career! 
how pale they would turn! how they would tremble, and 
clasp their hands in agony, at the precipice on which 
they are disporting! Debt is the prolific mother of folly 
and crime ; it taints the course of life in all its streams. 
Hence so many unhappy marriages, so many prostituted 
pens, and venal politicians ! It hath a small beginning, 
but a giant growth and strength. When we make the 
monster, we make our master, who haunts us at all hours, 
and shakes his whip of scorpions forever in our sight. 
The slave hath no overseer so severe. Faustus, when he 
signed the bond with blood, did not secure a doom so 
terrible. 

That feeling of over-due bills, of bills coming due, of 
accounts overdrawn, of tradesmen unpaid, of general 
money cares, is very dreadful at first, but it is astonishing 
how soon men get used to it. A load which would crush 
a man at first, becomes by habit not only endurable, but 
easy and comfortable to the bearer. The habitual debtor 
goes along jaunty and with elastic step, almost enjoying 
the excitement of his embarrassments. One is almost in- 
clined to believe that there is something pleasurable in 
the excitement of such embarrassments, as there is also 
in the excitement of drink. But then at last the time 
does come when the excitement is over, and when nothing 
but the misery is left. If there be an existence of wretch- 
edness on earth, it must be that of the elderly, worn-out 
roue, who has run this race of debt and bills of accommo- 
dation and acceptances — of what, if we were not in these 
days somewhat afraid of good, broad English, we might 
call lying and swindling, falsehood and fraud — and who, 
having ruined all whom he should have loved, having 
burnt up every one who would trust him much, and 
scorched all who would trust him a little, is at last left to 
finish his life with such bread and water as these men get, 
without one honest thought to strengthen his sinking 

o o o 

heart, or one honest friend to hold his shivering hand ! 
If a man could only think of that as he puts his name to 



410 DEBT. 

the first little bill, as to which he is so good-naturedly 
assured that it can easily be renewed ! 

He that once owes more than he can pay, is often 
obliged .to bribe his creditor to patience by increasing 
his debt. Worse and worse commodities, at a higher and 
higher price, are forced upon him; he is impoverished 
by compulsive traffic, and at last overwhelmed in the com- 
mon receptacles of misery, by debts which, without his 
own consent, were accumulated on his head. Never go 
in debt. Credit is the great evil of the age. It is the 
financial plague which every now and then decimates the 
world of business. The ease with which an exaggerated 
credit can be maintained, leads to reckless speculation ; 
and how often that worst species of gaming leads to ruin, 
disgrace and suicide. It is an old saying, but none the 
less valuable, that ready money is a ready medicine. How 
much it can relieve of human grief! How many obliter- 
ate of human afflictions ! None know the value of ready 
money so profoundly as he who has forever lived within 
the suffocating atmosphere of incessant debt. None en- 
joy so proudly the pure sovereignty of individual inde- 
pendence as he who ever uses the authority of ready cash, 
and resists the temptation to enter the gaudy and intoxi- 
cating world of debt. The grand object of most men's 
exertions is to grow rich. Some are more enamored of art, 
and some of science. Some yield themselves up to a 
delicious dream of fame, and some to the laborious pur- 
suit of metaphysical phantoms. But wealth is the deity 
idoiatrously worshipped by man, in the mass ; and wealth 
and credit are, in some minds, indissolubly associated as 
reciprocating motors in the machinery of trade. u Give 
us credit," they exclaim, "and we have capital." Very 
true ; they have the capital of others. Every dollar's 
worth for which you owe, is a dollar borrowed from 
somebody else to contribute to the sum on which you do 
business for yourself ; but oh ! the days of care — the nights 
of thought — the hours of anguish you endure, lest, build- 
ing on so precarious a foundation, the storm of a moment 
may not topple about your feet the structure of toilsome 
years. On the contrary, the man of cash entertains no 



DEBT. 



411 



such apprehensions. Appreciating the value of his little 
hoard, he indulges in no magnificent illusions. He con- 
templates everything through the serener medium of a 
cool and careful judgment. He struggles < slowly, but 
surely, up the steep hill of affluence ; and if he never re- 
alizes, till the end, any of the golden hours of inebriate 
exultation, he escapes, at the same time, all the sombre 
ones of crucified hope and self-invited despair. Never 
go in debt ! That is the safe man's motto. It points the 
road to fortune. It indicates a road full, perhaps, of pri- 
vations for a time, but exempt from all those embarrass- 
ments which dog the footsteps of the victim of credit, 
harrass his mind, dampen his energies, weigh down his 
spirit of enterprise, and crowd his way with innumerable 
obstacles, separately of little moment, but in the aggre- 
gate, painfully exhausting. It is not an easy matter for 
an ambitious heart to march contentedly in the rear of 
the rushing, leaping, excited multitude, and sturdily 
refuse to avail itself of the inebriating draught held out 
to every lip in the Circean cup of credit. But "they 
stumble who run fast." The reaction to all this over- 
excitement must have its turn ; and when it comes, the 
bounding crowd lag wearily along overcome with a 
weariness the result of their own wild and superfluous 
vivacity; while plodding sobriety, so long overlooked in 
the background, advances with vigorous foot, and passes 
triumphantly on to the goal, in advance of all competi- 
tors. In the race for success, he who eschews all indebt- 
edness runs lightly, and is prepared for a laborious 
contest, in view of the importance of the prize. He who 
accepts credit only fills his pockets with so many stones; 
and carrying weight, either breaks down before he attains 
the winning-post, or only reaches it by a double consump- 
tion of power and vitality. So never go in debt ! Debt is a 
species of enslavement, and, as such, an evil to be shunned 
— often a "crying evil." Let all, who can, avoid it as 
they would the pestilence. 

To have paid one's debts, is a great comfort. Out of 
debt, out of danger. Pecuniary dependence naturally 
degrades the mind, and depraves the heart. Our debts 



412 DEBT. 

and our sins, says Franklin, are generally greater than 
we think for. It is not so painful for an honest man to 
want money as it is to owe it. Never associate with a 
man who never pays his debts. "If a fellow wont pay, 
his company wont." Remember this — No man can ever 
borrow himself out of debt. If you wish for relief, you 
must work for it. You must make more and spend less, 
than you did while you were running in debt. The bor- 
rower is servant to the lender. Never borrow more than 
the lender is willing to lose if you cannot repay it. And 
never borrow anything except in a case of most extreme 
necessity. Don't let the notion that you might do a 
great deal better business if you only had a few more 
hundreds of capital, tempt you into borrowing or hiring 
money which you may never be able to return. It may 
seem to you next to impossible that you should not be 
able to double and treble the money long before the time 
for payment comes, but as long as you know that it is 
not impossible, don't you risk it ; unless, as was said be- 
fore, your lender is willing to oblige you and take what- 
ever consequences may follow. The more independent 
you can be in money matters, the happier and more of a 
man you will be. It is a thousand times better to com- 
mence life on a dollar business, or in as small a way as 
"The Little Wool Merchant" of admirable memory did, 
who laid the foundation of a large fortune by hunting on 
the moors for locks of wool which the bushes had torn 
from the sheep, than to start on a large borrowed capital. 
Of course there are some men who do so start that are 
successful, and soon pay principal and interest of the 
borrowed sum, but the risks are very great. When you 
consider that hardly one man in ten prospers in business, 
how can you presume that you shall be the fortunate 
one? and if you be not, what a miserable addition to the 
burden of your ill-luck will be debt. Keep clear of it 
by all practicable means. For if you do not, one of two 
things will certainly befall you, unless you prosper and 
can pay up. You will live all your days in shame and 
annoyance because of that debt, or your moral sense and 
your manly character will be lowered and undermined. 



FAILURE. 413 

You will cease to be respectable or respected. What- 
ever your means are, if they will, sustain life, let it be 
your effort to live within them. If you want to do so, 
and your wife don't want to, your case is certainly a hard 
one ; but you must play the man now, or you are gone, 
lost overboard, and you will never see land more. Stand 
by the right, no matter where it hurts you. Don't let 
the tears and poutings of a Circe prevail against you. If 
she says, "You don't love me, or you would never ask 
me to come down to such mean living; I never would 
have married you if I had not thought you could support 
me," swallow the bitter pill the best way you can, but 
don't budge from your position. Honor and the right 
should be dearer than the wife or child. A man whose 
wife takes that position has a hard road to walk, and in 
all probability his heart's blood will mark it. One thing 
is sure, if your wife don't love you well enough to share 
your fortune, whether good or ill, and to try and encour- 
age you in all that is your duty, she did not love you 
well enough to marry you, and she is an unworthy wife. 
But where there is one such woman there are a hundred 
others who are true helpmeets for their husbands, and 
who will hold up both hands to the aspiration and the 
sentiment, "Even though we must struggle long with 
want and hardship, let us keep out of debt." 



FAILURE. 

The world is full of experiments and consequently is 
full of failures. It could not be well otherwise. Noth- 
ing truly great is the product of instant suggestion. 
It is usually the result of painfully slow, but important 
accretions of intelligence. When complete it is a com- 
bined series of successive improvements, the contribution 
of many minds, even though all be filtered through a 
single idea, devoted in every respect to the reduction of 
differing elements to a homogeneous mass. In this pro- 
gressive motion, how many a wayward step must be ex- 



414 FAILURE. 

pected! How many a brilliant thought, led astray by some 
glittering ignu&fatuus, falls headlong into some slough 
of despond, or sinks in despair at the verge of some im- 
passable precipice ! But other brilliant thoughts catch 
up the thread of light at the point of departure, and 
carry it on until they, too, become bewildered and wander 
off; when, still others grasp the quivering line at its criti- 
cal mark, and exultingly follow it up to its glorious ter- 
mination. This is the history, alas! of almost every 
noble invention, although, in pity to the world of sanguine 
hope, custom blinds us to all but the incipient gropings 
in the dark, and the god-like emergence of the victor into 
the broad, noon-day sunbeam of complete success. Ex- 
perientia docet — there is no instructor like misfortune. It 
teaches us what to avoid. And the fatal error in every 
attempt to carry out an original conception, is the dispo- 
sition to yield to some one or more of the ten thousand 
fanciful chimeras which obtrude themselves as aux- 
iliaries in the work, and little by little, betray the ab- 
sorbed attraction into a labarynth of petty errors and in- 
extricable difficulties. We need never despair, then. 
The wreck of one thought remains a monitor for the next ; 
and instead of grieving over the lost idea, we should re- 
member how many, and still . more valuable ones might 
have been placed in peril but for such a timely warning. 
It is said that ninety-five in a hundred of all our mer- 
cantile men fail once at least in their business life-time, or 
that there are few who succeed in business who have not 
made at least one failure. What is the secret of the fre- 
quency of failures among business men? "Overreach- 
ing," you will probably say, — the secret ol it, in turn, 
being a too great making of haste to get riches. No 
doubt the secret does often lie in miscalculation and mis- 
management in the counting-room and the storehouse, 
including all the evils of borrowing and endorsing with- 
out judgment or discretion. But we think a full investi- 
gation — if it were allowable — would demonstrate that the 
difficulty often lies in quite a different quarter, viz : in the 
extravagantly provided home of the bankrupt, and the 
needless expenditures of his family. It is always much 



FAILURE. 415 

more difficult for a business man to pay the debts con- 
tracted by his wife and daughters than those contracted 
by himself. The latter, being within the regular pro- 
gramme of trade, are provided for, while the former are 
not thought of, perhaps, till the bills are presented and 
payment is urged. In other words, — it is the surprise of 
these outside liabilities which renders them so embarrass- 
ing. If provided for they would have been merest trifles 
and paid as such. Now, they become serious annoyances, 
interfering with the payment of notes, and ultimately 
proving so much poison to his credit and his comfort. 
The prudent wife and daughter of the merchant and the 
manufacturer consider these things, and so become helps, 
instead of hindrances, to even the operations of business 
life! 

But there are other causes of failure. An ambition to 
be rich. Aversion to labor. An impatient desire to en- 
joy the luxuries of life before the right to them has been 
acquired in any way. The want of some better principle 
for the distinguishing between right and wrong, than ref- 
erence merely to what is established as honorable in the 
society in which he happens to live. 

The man who never failed is a myth. Such a one 
never lived, and is never likely to. All success is a series 
of efforts, in which, when closely viewed, are seen more 
or less failures. If you fail now and then, do not be dis- 
couraged. Bear in mind it is only the part and expe- 
rience of every successful man; and the most successful 
men often have the most failures. Yes, if we have the 
right stuff in us, these failures at the outset are grand 
materials for success. To the feeble they are, of course, 
stumbling blocks. The wretched weakling goes no 
farther; he lags behind, and subsides into a life of failure. 
And so by this winnowing process the number of the 
athletes in the great Olympics of life is restricted to a 
few, and there is clear space in the arena. There is 
scarcely an old man among us — an old and successful 
man — who will not willingly admit that he was made by 
failures, and that what he once thought his hard fate, was 
in reality his good fortune. And thou, my child, thou 



416 FAILURE. 

that thinkest thou can'st carry Parnassus by storm, learn 
to possess thyself in patience. Not easy the lesson, I 
know ; not cheering the knowledge that success is not 
attainable, by a hop, step and a jump, but by arduous 
passages of gallant perseverance, toilsome efforts long 
sustained, and most of all, by repeated failures. Hard, 
I know, is that last word, grating harshly upon the ear of 
youth. Say, then, that we mollify it a little, — that we 
strip it of its outer crustaceousness and asperity; and 
truthfully may we do so. For these failures are, as I have 
said, but stepping-stones to success ; — at the worst, non- 
attainments of the desired end before thy time. If suc- 
cess were to crown thine efforts now, where would be the 
great success ot the hereafter ? It is the brave resolu- 
tion to "do better next time" that lays the subtrate of 
all real greatness. Many a promising reputation has been 
destroyed by early success. The good sap runs out from 
the' trunk into feeble offshoots or suckers. The hard dis- 
cipline of the knife is wanted. I repeat that it is not 
pleasant; but when thou feelest the sharpness of the 
edge, think that all who have gone before thee have been 
lacerated in like manner. 

It is far from being true, in the progress of knowledge, 
that after every failure Ave must recommence from the be- 
ginning. Every failure is a step to success; every de- 
tection of what is false directs us towards what is true ; 
every trial exhausts some tempting form of error. Not 
only so ; but scarcely any attempt is entirely a failure ; 
scarcely any theory, the result of steady thought, is 
altogether false ; no tempting form of error is without 
some latent charm derived from truth. 

Doubtless a deeper feeling of individual responsibility, 
and a better adaptation of talent to its fields of labor, 
are necessary to bring about a better state of society, 
and a better condition for the individual members of it. 
But with the most careful adaptation of talent and means 
to pursuits, no man can succeed, as a general principle, 
who has not a fixed and resolute purpose in his mind, 
and an unwavering faith that he can carry that purpose 
out. It is the taking hold of the plough and looking 



FAILURE. > 417 

back at the furrow, instead of forward to the unbroken 
sod, that causes so many failures. There is, with a great 
majority of men, a want of constancy in whatever plans 
they undertake. They toil as though they doubted that 
life had earnest and decided pathways; as though there 
was no compass but the shifting winds, with each of 
which they must change their course. Thus they beat 
about on the ocean of time, but never cross it, to rest on 
delightful islands or mainlands. Those who are familiar 
with the Scottish history will remember the incident which 
inspired the faltering Bruce to become the saviour of his 
country. Lying in a shed, despairing over his fate, he 
saw a spider striving to reach the ceiling by a slender 
web. Again and again the resolute insect struggled up 
and fell backward. But the ceiling was its desired goal, 
and it returned each time with greater vigor to the trial. 
Obstacles only stimulated it, and at length it triumphed. 
The despairing Bruce made the faithful instinct of the 
spider his lesson — it gave him a new inspiration, and he 
went forth to beat back the Saxon invaders, to triumph 
over England, and to become a hero and a king. It is 
this spirit of earnest, hopeful and constant faith that man 
wants in pursuing the object he has set before him. His 
motto must be "There is no such word as fail." No man 
ever rose to fortune, or to fame, save chance exceptions, 
scarcely creditable in themselves — without encountering 
obstacles, and at times almost despairing of his toil. It 
is the great virtue and glory of life to buffet the wave 
and breast the storm, and he who does it with a good 
purpose is surely rewarded. Suppose Columbus had 
yielded to the mutinous spirit, around him, in his search 
for a new hemisphere — suppose the mariner, with his 
sails bent for gold coasts or spice islands, was to surrender 
to every cross current or baffling wind, would the new 
hemisphere have been found, or the gold coasts and spice 
islands be gained? Life, with every man, is a barque on 
the sea of time. Every man is a voyager and has a 
port to gain. He selects his port, and he must start with 
undeceiving compass, and, against wind and tide, bear 
on to that port, or he will never reach it. With 

27 



418 t REVERSES IN NEW YORK. 

the brave, considerate soul there is no such word 
"fail." 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet, hae nae cash to spare him.— 'Burns. 



REVERSES IN NEW YORK. 

Firms are constantly changing. Splendid mansions 
change hands suddenly. A brilliant party is held in an 
up-town house, the sidewalk is carpeted, and the papers 
are full of the brilliant reception. The next season the 
house will be dismantled, and a family, "going into the 
country," or "to Europe," w^ill offer their imported fur- 
niture to the public under the hammer. A brilliant equip- 
age is seen in Central Park in the early part of the 
season, holding gaily dressed ladies and some successful 
speculators. Before the season closes some Government 
officer or sporting man will drive that team on his own 
account, while the gay party that called the outfit their 
own in the early part of the season have passed away 
forever. This grows out of the manner in which busi- 
ness is done. There is no thrift, no forecast, no thought 
for the morrow. A man who makes $50,000, instead of 
settling half of it on his wife and children, throws the 
whole into a speculation with the expectation of making 
it a hundred thousand. A successful Dry Goods Jobber, 
who has a balance of $75,000 to his credit in the bank, 
instead of holding it for a wet day or a tight time, goes 
into a little stock speculation and hopes to make a for- 
tune at a strike. Men who have a good season launch 
out into extravagancies and luxuries, and these, with the 
gambling mania, invariably carry people under. 

A gentleman, who had a very successful trade, built 
him an extraordinary country seat in Westchester county, 
which was the wonder of the age. His house was more 



A SERMON TO YOUNG MEN. 419 

costly than the palace of the Duke of Buccleuch. His 
estate comprised several acres laid out in the most expen- 
sive manner, and the whole was encircled with gas lights, 
several hundred in number, which were lit every evening. 
As might have been expected with the first reverse, (and 
it comes sooner or later to all,) the merchant was crushed. 
and as he thought disgraced; and he was soon carried 
to his sepulchre, the wife obliged to leave her luxurious 
home, and by the kindness of creditors was allowed, with 
her children, to find temporary refuge in the coachman's 
loft in her stable. 



A SERMON TO YOUNG MEN. 

Genesis, 39th ch. and 3d v. "The Lord w^as with Jo- 
seph, and he was a prosperous man." The secret of the 
signal success of Joseph throughout an eventful life, was 
that God took care of him from his youth. There is no 
safety for any man who does not start right, in this re- 
spect. The difference between prosperity and failure lies 
in the pious fear ot God. "I speak what I know." I 
don't look at the world from my study window. I have 
been down in it! I know what it is; what its perils are, 
where its hidden breakers are, and how many are the 
dangers of young men. I shall point out some of the 
critical moments in a young man's life. 

That is a critical moment when he chooses his occupa- 
tion. Then the youth' should earnestly pray : God help 
me! God grant me wisdom, guidance, light There are 
five hundred callings, but only one for this particular 
person; hence there are four hundred and ninety-nine 
chances that he will make a wrong selection ; and if he 
mistakes here lie is gone. His life will be a series of false 
steps beginning with this one ; it will be filled up with 
fruitless endeavors, with frustrations, with humiliating 
failures, and it will end in disappointment, and unavailing 
regrets. I knew a man at sixty who had passed his years 
under the shadows of successive misfortunes ; and he con- 
fessed that at twenty-one the Lord impressed him with 



420 A SERMON TO THE YOUNG. 

the feeling that he ought to be a minister of the gospel. 
But he turned to secular pursuits, and the Lord let him 
go on, and flounder to the end. I knew another who 
had a genius for surgery, but who, after achieving early 
successes in that line, took up the notion that he was 
called to preach, and following that conviction, he en- 
tered the ministry, but in every move he failed ; his way 
was hedged about, and he had to go back to his true vo- 
cation, as a Christian surgeon. What is the reason that 
ninety-nine-one-hundredths who enter mercantile life fail? 
The Lord is not consulted by them in their choice, and 
is not sought to go with them in their pursuit. They do 
not prosper because they rely on their own judgment, 
and then on their business tact. It is dangerous to ven- 
ture forth alone. It is prudent to seek advice of friends, 
to hearken to the counsel of parents, to listen to the ex- 
perience, to take lesson from the lips of the wise. But 
human counsel is at least fallible. God only can be safely 
trusted as a counsellor. It is madness to disregard His 
will, to slight His wisdom, to reject His aid, His favor, His 
presence. 

It is a critical time when a young man sets up his own 
household. It is not too much to say that when a mai, 
chooses a wife he weds for heaven or for hell, accordingly 
as he brings into his house and heart a good influence; if 
it be a bad influence he will go down. The Godless 
youth is infatuated by a fair face, and is lured to his fate 
by a syren's smile. He takes no counsel of the Lord and 
is left to follow his own shallow fancies or the instigations 
of his passions. The time will surely come in his life 
when he will not so much want a pet as a heroine. In 
dark and trying days, when the waves of misfortune are 
breaking over him, and one home comfort, and another, 
and another is swept away, the piano — the Chickering 
grand — gone to the creditors, the family turned out on 
the side-walk by the heartless landlord, then what is the 
wife good for if her lips that accompanied the piano in 
song cannot lift alone the notes, "Jesus, lover of my soul," 
&c. The strongest arm in this world is not the arm of a 
blacksmith, nor the arm of a giant; it is the arm of a 



A SERMON TO YOUNG MEN. 421 

tvoman, when God has put into it, through faith and sub- 
mission to His will, his own moral omnipotence. If there 
is one beautiful spot on earth, it is the home of the young 
family consecrated by piety, the abode of the Holy Spirit, 
above which the hovering angels touch their wings, 
forming a canopy of protection and sanctity. 

Another critical time is that of the first success. It will 
come soon or late. It will break upon the young man 
some day and surprise him. He will leave his business 
to go home under the exhilaration of his first success. 
He will take his seat in the street car elated and buoyant. 
He will see a lady enter and stand ; he will spring up and 
give her his seat ; she will thank him ; she will be one of 
that sort. He will bound into the hall, and his merry 
voice will ring glad shouts from basement to attic. Soon 
he will find himself perplexed about what to do with 
his money, and how to adapt himself to his new circum- 
stances. That is a critical moment! Shall he be still a 
man or shall he be a thrall of mammon ? He may be as 
good a Christian walking on an Axminster carpet as on the 
bare floor of a shanty. But if he is not a Christian al- 
ready, if the Lord is not with him in that sudden sun- 
burst of prosperty, he is in imminent danger of falling 
in love with money. He may, in his new-born infatuation, 
try to make a whole caravan of camels go through the 
eye of a needle. First success is extremely dangerous. 
Then Godliness is indispensable to avert pride, covetous- 
ness, vain glory and ruin. 

The first trouble is a crisis in life. It may be business 
failure. It may break up not fortune only, but character, 
credit, and courage, and wreck the whole man for life. 
There are gray-haired, grand- headed men now in petty 
clerkships who were merchant-princes thirty-five years 
ago; but the financial crash of 1837 took them down into 
bankruptcy, and cowed them into spiritless mediocrity. 
They were without God in the world, and therefore had 
no hope when the storm strewed their fortunes on the 
rock-bound coast of ruin. "If thou faint in the day of 
adversity, thy strength is small." If the Lord be with a 
man when he sinks amidst the waves of adversity, he will 
come up again and stand upon the rock. He will 



422 SOCIETY. 

be able to say " Cast down, but not destroyed." The 
first trouble may be bereavement. Business success is 
often followed suddenly by family affliction. The first- 
born may be taken. The light of the house is darkened. 
The harp-strings of joy are all unstrung when one is 
snapped. Then the tender hand of God is sufficient to 
tune again the chords. 

It may be sickness. The busy man, in too much haste 
to be rich, has bankrupted his health. His physician or- 
ders him home, he takes his bed, he has a fever, his 
chamber is shaded, noise is shut out, the prattle of chil- 
dren, the footstep on the stair, are hushed. In fitful 
dreams he hears a dash of waves against his pillow; it is 
the rolling of the waters of the Jordan ! He hears at the 
door the pawing of a horse, pawing, pawing; it is the 
pale horse. 0, in death you will need Jesus! To be a 
conquerer in that last crisis of life you must have the 
Lord, the Captain of salvation, with you. 



SOCIETY. 

Women and men for the first time in history are really 
companions. Our traditions of the proper relations be- 
tween them have descended from a time when their lives 
were apart, when they were separate in their thoughts 
because they were separate both in their amusements and 
in their serious occupations. The man spent his hours 
of leisure among men — all his friendships, all his intima- 
cies were with men — with man alone did he converse on 
any serious subject; the wife was either a plaything or an 
upper servant. All this among the educated classes is 
changed. Men no longer give up their spare time to vio- 
lent outdoor exercises and boisterous convivialities with 
male associates; the two sexes really pass their time 
together; the women of the family are the man's habit- 
ual society — the wife is his chief associate, his most con- 
fidential friend, and often his most trusted counsellor. 
The time is come when woman, if not raised to the level 



SOCIETY. 423 

of men, men will be pulled down to their's. The women 
of a man's family are either a stimulus and support to his 
highest aspirations, or a drag upon him. Men and wo- 
men are really companions. If the women are frivolous, 
the men will be frivolous. If women care for personal 
interests and thrilling amusements, men in general will 
care for little else. The two sexes must rise and sink 
together. 

What is it that makes all those men who associate 
habitually with women superior to others who do not? 
What makes that woman who is accustomed and at ease 
in the society of men superior to her sex in general ? 
Solely because they are in the habit of free, graceful, 
continued conversations with the other sex. Women in 
this way lose their frivolity, their faculties awaken, their 
delicacies and peculiarities unfold all their beauty and 
captivation in the spirit of intellectual rivalry. And the 
men lose their pedantic, rude, declamatory, or sullen 
manner. The coin of the understanding and the heart 
changes continually. The asperities are rubbed off, their 
better materials polished and brightened, and their rich- 
ness, like the gold, is wrought into finer workmanship by 
the fingers of women than it ever could be by those of 
men. The iron and steel of their characters are hidden, 
like the character and armor of a giant, by studs and 
knots of good and precious stones, when they are not 
wanted in actual warfare. Thackeray has said that all 
men who avoid female society have dull perceptions, and 
are stupid, and have gross tastes, and revolt against what 
is pure. Your club-swaggerers, who are sucking the 
butts of billiard cues all night, call female society insipid. 
Poetry is uninspiring to a zany ; beauty has no charms 
for a blind man; music docs not please a poor beast who 
does not know one tune from another ; but as a true epi- 
cure is hardly ever tired of water, brown bread and 
butter, I protest I can sit for a whole night talking to a 
well-regulated, kindly woman about her daughter Fanny, 
or her boy Frank, and like the evening's entertainment. 
One of the great benefits a man may derive from woman's 
society is that he is bound to be respectful to her. The 



424 SOCIETY. 

habit is of great good to your morals, men, depend upon 
it. Our education makes us the most eminently selfish 
men in the world, and the greatest benefit that comes to 
a man from a woman's society is that he has to think of 
somebody to whom he is bound to be constantly attentive 
and respectful. No improvement, that takes place in 
either of the sexes, can possibly be confined to itself; 
each is a universal mirror to the other. 

Society has been aptly compared to a heap of embers, 
which, when separated, soon languish, darken, and expire; 
but if placed together, glow with a ruddy and intense 
heat; a just emblem of the strength, happiness, and se- 
curity derived from mankind. The savage who never 
knew the blessings of combination, and he who quits so- 
ciety from apathy or misanthropic spleen, are like the 
separated embers, dark, dead, useless; they neither give 
nor receive heat, neither love nor are beloved. To what 
acts of heroism and virtue, in every age and nation, has 
not the impetus of affection given rise ? How often in 
the busy haunts of men, are all our noblest and gentlest 
virtues called forth ? And how in the bosom of the re- 
cluse do all the soft emotions languish and grow faint? It 
is good to meet in friendly intercourse and pour out that 
social cheer which so vivifies the weary and desponding 
heart. It elevates the feelings and makes us all the bet- 
ter for the world. Yes, yes, give to all the hearty grasp 
and the sunny smile. They send sunshine to the soul and 
make the heart leap as with new life and joy. Thus may 
we become brothers in every good word and deed, and 
Peace and Good Will spread in the earth. We are not 
well enough acquainted each with each and all with all. 
We are not social enough. Many members of the same 
church congregation are nearly or wholly unacquainted, 
one with another. We are not found, often enough at 
one another's houses. We are specially delinquent in the 
duty of calling upon such as come among us and connect 
themselves with us. We do not welcome them and seek 
to make their stay as pleasant as possible. We do not 
take the kindly notice we should of such as only occa- 
sionally come to our places of public and social worship. 



SOCIETY. 425 

We do not ask such as we may see about the door and in 
the vestibule to take seats with us, and we suffer stran- 
gers to sit through the service and go away unrecognized 
and unspoken to, and so they go in search of a warmer 
welcome elsewhere. We do not have social gatherings 
enough. We carry our unsocialness too much into our 
so-called social religious meetings. There is too much 
stiffness, formality and iciness there. Too few participate 
in them. Too few take up the duty, or seize upon the 
privilege of saying a word, or offering a prayer or break- 
ing out in some familiar song. There is too much dis- 
tance there, too much indifference to each other's 
presence, too much haste in leaving the place at the close 
of meeting. We should, at least, clasp hands and ex- 
change greetings before we go. Says Daniel Webster, 
"We should make it a principle to extend the hand of 
fellowship to every man who discharges faithfully his 
duties, and maintains good order — who manifests a deep 
interest in the welfare of general society — whose deport- 
ment is upright, and whose mind is intelligent, without 
stopping to ascertain whether he swings a hammer or 
draws a thread. There is nothing distinct from all nat- 
ural claim as the reluctant, the backward sympathy — the 
forced smile — the checked conversation — the hesitating 
compliance, the well-off are too apt to manifest to those 
a little down, with whom in comparison of intellect and 
principles of virtue, they frequently sink into insignifi- 
cance." 

After all that can be said about the advantages one 
man has over another, there is still a wonderful equality 
in human fortunes. If the heiress has booty for her 
dower, the penniless have beauty for their's; if one man 
has cash, the other has credit; if one boasts of his 
income, the other can of his influence. No one is so mis- 
erable but that his neighbor wants something he possesses; 
and no one so mighty but that he wants another's aid. 
There is no fortune so good but it may be reversed ; and 
none so bad but it may be bettered. The sun that rises 
in clouds may set in splendor ; and that which rises in 
splendor may set in gloom. 



426 SOCIETY. 

Rev. Edward Everett Hale has been philosophizing on 
social relations and duties, and among other things, he 
said this: "For all I can say, or anybody else can say, it 
will be the manner of some people to give up meeting 
other people socially ; I am very sorry for them, but I 
cannot help it. All I can say is that they will be sorry 
before they are done. I wish they would read iEsop's 
fable about the old man and his sons and the bundle of 
rods. I wish they would find out definitely why God 
gave them tongues and lips and ears. I wish they would 
take to heart the folly of this constant struggle in which 
they live, against the whole law of the being of a grega- 
rious animal like man." Westerly writes me, "I do not 
look for much advance in the world until we can get 
people out of their own self." "The human race is the 
individual of which men and women are so many differ- 
ent members." You may kick against this law, but it is 
true. It is the truth around which, like a crystal round 
its nucleus, all modern civilization has taken order. " From 
social intercourse," says Addison, " are derived some of the 
highest enjoyments of life ; where there is a free inter- 
change of sentiments, the mind acquires new ideas, and 
by a frequent exercise of its power, the undersigned 
gains fresh vigor." Martin Luther once said: "When I 
am assailed with heavy tribulations, I rush out among my 
pigs rather than remain alone by myself. The human 
heart is like a millstone in a mill; when you put wheat 
under it, it turns and bruises the wheat into flour ; if you 
put no wheat in it, it still grinds on ; but then it is itself 
it grinds, and wears away." 

The typical American is not an uusocial person. In- 
deed, he is very far from being anything of the kind. For- 
eigners regard the American as one who has a particular 
fondness for living with his windows up and his doors 
open. Yet it is doubtless true that there is a notable lack 
of freedom and ease in the intercourse of American 
society, and that the coming together of men and wo- 
men for the interchange of thought and feeling is 
attended with difficulties that only the rich may success- 
fully encounter. If half a dozen friends are invited to 



SOCIETY. 427 

dinner, it is deemed necessary to crowd the table with 
superfluous viands and dainty and costly dishes. Now 
we protest that there must be a better way than this. 
The great multitude are those who, in some calling or 
profession, work for their bread. To furnish a dinner and 
tea such as we have described, would be felt by them as 
a severe tax. No matter how intellectual and socially 
valuable these people may be, they shrink from entering 
society that imposes such burdens. As they feel it to be 
impossible for them to return in kind the expensive civil- 
ities which a wealthy neighbor extends to them, they 
shrink back into their own houses and go nowhere. 
Everywhere, and all the time, these costly entertainments, 
at dinner and tea and social assembly, operate as a bar 
to social intercourse. Indeed, they have become, in the 
full, legitimate meaning of the word, nuisance. To those 
who give them they are not pleasant in any respect. 
They are provided with no expectation of a compensa- 
ting pleasure ; and few besides the young — to whom any 
opportunity for dancing and frolicking is agreeable — take 
the slightest satisfaction in them. They are glad when 
their toilet is made, glad when the refreshments are 
offered, glad when the show is over and they can go home, 
glad when they get safely to bed, and particularly glad 
the following morning if they can look over their coats 
and dresses and find that they are not ruined. The essen- 
tial vulgarity of the phase of social life which we are 
considering is decided by the simple fact that the great 
question of the hostess concerns the stomach of her 
guests, and the great question of her guests relates to the 
decorations of their own backs. It elevates nobody, it 
refines nobody, it inspires and instructs nobody, and it 
satisfies nobody. Yet we go one year after another up- 
holding these social usages which we despise. Let us 
find the right way, and follow it ! 

The spirit of life is society ; that of society is freedom ; 
that of freedom, the discreet and moderate use of it. A 
man may contemplate virtue in solitude, and retirement ; 
but the practical part consists in its participation, and the 
society it hath with others; for whatever is good, is 



428 SOCIETY. 

better for being communicable. As too long a retire- 
ment weakens the mind, so too much company dissi- 
pates it. Too much company is worse than none. A 
man secluded from company, can have none but the devil 
and himself to tempt him ; but he that converses much 
in the world has almost as many snares as he has com- 
panions. Dean Swift had a better relish for good society 
than for choice viands. When invited to the houses of 
great men, he sometimes insisted upon knowing what 
persons he was likely to meet. "I don't want your bill 
of fare, but your bill of company." 

Property continually tends to become a more vivid 
idea than right. In the struggle for private accumula- 
tion, the worth of every human being is overlooked. The 
importance of every man's progress is forgotten. We 
must contend for this great idea. They who hold it, 
must spread it around them. The truth must be sounded 
in the ears of men, that the grand end of society is to 
place within reach of all its members the means of im- 
provement, of elevation, of the true happiness of man. 
There is a higher duty than to build almshouses for the 
poor, and that is, to save men from being degraded to 
the blighting influence of an almshouse. Man has a 
right to something more than bread to keep him from 
starving. He has a right to the aids, and encourage- 
ments, and culture, by which he may fulfill the destiny 
of a man ; and until society is brought to recognize and 
reverence this, it will continue to groan under its present 
miseries. It is a delicate secret, that of being attractive 
and charming in company. Some think it requires beauty 
and knowledge, or eloquence in the speaker ; it requires 
no such thing. It is true that beauty brings the hearers 
near, but it does not keep them. Some people think 
that it requires the speaker to be clever herself, or agree- 
able or interesting ; instead of which it only requires that 
she should, with nice and delicate tact, so address herself 
to others, as to make them feel themselves clever, agree- 
able, and interesting; and that will please and gratify 
them infinitely more than by displaying the most brilliant 
and extraordinary power of her own. 



SOCIETY. 429 

The clergy are amongst the most agreeable of all com- 
panions. The best conversationist we ever knew was a 
clergyman. In these days, when education and refine- 
ment pervade all classes, the race of clergymen described 
by the novelists and playwrights of the last century have 
entirely passed away. The punch-making parson, with 
his wig awry, exists only on the canvass of Hogarth, or 
in the pages of Smollett. This country can now boast 
of a body of clergy unequaled by that of any other 
nation in the world, who bring to society a fund of 
information and knowledge, tempered by philanthropy 
and benevolence, and untinctured by gloom or affec- 
tation. 

The most agreeable of all companions is a simple, frank 
man, without any high pretensions to an oppressive 
greatness — one who loves life and understands the use 
of it; obliging alike at all hours; above all, of a golden 
temper, and steadfast as an anchor. For such a one we 
would gladly exchange the greatest genius, the most bril- 
liant wit, the profoundest thinker. Good offices are the 
cement of society. 

The art of pleasing in company is not to explain things 
too circumstantially, but express only part and leave your 
hearers to make out the rest. " When you come into any 
company," says Sir Isaac Newton, " observe their humors ; 
suit your own carriage thereto, by which insinuation you 
will make their converse more free and open. Let your 
discourse be more in queries and doubtings, than per- 
emptory assertions, or disputings. He that in company 
only studies men's diversions, may be sure at the same 
time to lose their respect. Resolve to speak and act well 
in company, in spite of those that do different; whose 
vice set against thy virtue, will render it the more con- 
spicuous and excellent." 

The great object of society is refreshment of spirit. 
This is not to be obtained by luxury or by the cankerous 
habit of speaking against others, but by a bright and 
easy interchange of ideas on subjects which, even in. their 
lightest and most playful aspects, are worthy to engage 
the thoughts of men. 



430 ASSOCIATIONS. 

Society is the atmosphere of souls, and we necessarily 
inhale from it what is either healthful or infectious. 

The more polished the society is, the less formality 
there is in it. 

In good society, we are required to do obliging things 
to one another ; in genteel society we are required only 
to say them. 

The best society and conversation is that in which the 
heart has a greater share than the head. 

Society is like the air, very high up it is too subli- 
mated for comfortable breathing; too low down it is a 
perfect choke damp. 

Fashionable society has generally two faults — first in 
being hollow-headed, and second in being hollow-hearted. 

He cannot bestow to society who lives upon society ; 
he only gives who provides for his own. 

Society, like shaded silk, must be viewed in all situa- 
tions or its colors will deceive us. 

. Society rarely pardons those who have discovered the 
emptiness of its pleasures, and who can live independent 
of it and them. 



ASSOCIATIONS. 

An author is known by his writings, a mother by her 
daughter, a fool by his words, and all men by their com- 
panions. 

Intercourse with persons of decided virtue and excel- 
lence is of great importance in the formation of a good 
character. The force of example is powerful; we are 
creatures of imitation, and, by a necessary influence, our 
tempers and habits are very much formed on the model 
of those with whom we familiarly associate. Better be 
alone than in bad company. Evil communications cor- 
rupt good manners. Ill qualities are catching as well as 
diseases; and the mind is at least as much, if not a great 
deal more, liable to infection, than the body. Go with 
mean people, and you think life is mean. 

The human race requires to be educated, and it is doubt- 



ASSOCIATIONS. 431 

less* true that the major part of that education is obtained 
through example rather than precept. This is especially 
true respecting character and habits. How natural is it 
for a child to look up to those around him for an example 
of imitation, and how readily does he copy all that he 
sees done, good or bad. The importance of a good ex- 
ample on which the young may exercise this powerful 
and active element of their nature, is a matter of the ut- 
most moment. To the Phrenologist every faculty assumes 
an importance almost infinite, and perhaps none more so 
than that of imitation. It is a trite, but true maxim, 
that "a man is known by the company he keeps." He 
naturally assimilates, by the force of imitation, to the 
habits and manners of those by whom he is surrounded. 
We know persons, who walk much with the lame, who 
have learned to walk with a hitch or limp like their lame 
friends. Vice stalks in the streets unabashed, and chil- 
dren copy it. Witness the urchin seven years old trying 
to ape his seniors in folly, by smoking the cigar-stumps 
which they have cast aside. In time, when his funds im- 
prove, he will wield the long nine, and be a full-fledged 
a loafer." This faculty is usually more active in the 
young than in adult life, and serves to lead them to imi- 
tate that which their seniors do, before their reasoning 
powers are sufficiently developed and instructed to enable 
them to reason out a proper course of action. Thus by 
copying others, they do that which is appropriate, 
right, or wrong, without knowing why, or the principles 
and consequences involved in their actions. 

The following beautiful allegory is translated from the 
German: Tophronius, a wise teacher, would not suffer 
even his own grown-up sons and daughters to associate 
with those whose conduct was not pure and upright. 
"Dear father," said the gentle Eulalia to him one day, 
when he forbade her, in company with her brother, to 
visit the volatile Lucinda, " dear father, you must think 
us very childish, if you imagine that we should be ex- 
posed to danger by it." The father took in silence a 
dead coal from the hearth, and reached it to his daughter, 
u It will not burn yo a, my child; take it." Eulalia did 



432 ASSOCIATIONS. 

so, and behold .' her delicate white hand was soiled and 
blackened, and as it chanced her white dress also. "We 
cannot be too careful in handling coals," said Eulalia, in 
vexation. "Yes, truly," said her father; "you see,my 
child, that coals, even if they do not burn, blacken. So 
it is with the company of the vicious." 

The awfully sad consequences of evil associations is ex- 
hibited in the history of almost all criminals. The case 
of a man named Brown recently executed in Toronto, 
Canada, is an example. He was born in Cambridgeshire, 
England, of parents who were members of the Church of 
England ; and in a sketch of his life written at his dicta- 
tion, he attributes his downfall to early disobedience and 
to bad companions, which led to dissipation and finally 
plunged him into associations with the most dissolute and 
lawless characters. They led him on in transgression 
and sin, which ended in his being brought to the scaffold. 
On the gallows he made the following speech : — " This is 
a solemn day for me, boys ! I hope this will be a warning 
to you against bad company — I hope it will be a lesson 
to all young people, and old as well as young, rich and 
poor. It was that that brought me here to-day to 
my last end, though I am innocent of the murder I am 
about to suffer for. Before my God I am innocent of the 
murder! I never committed this or any other murder. 
I know nothing of it. I am going to meet my Maker in 
a few minutes. My the Lord have mercy on my soul! 
Amen, amen." What a terrible warning his melancholy 
example affords to young men never to deviate from the 
straight line of duty. Live with the culpable, and you 
will be very likely to die with the criminal. Bad com- 
pany is like a nail driven into a post, which after the first 
or second blow, may be drawn out with little difficulty; 
but being once driven in up to the head, the pinchers 
cannot take hold to draw it out, which can only be done 
by the destruction of the wood. Let you be ever so 
pure, you cannot associate with bad companions without 
falling into bad odor. Evil company is like tobacco 
smoke— you cannot be long in its presence without car- 
rying away taint of it. "Let no man deceive himself," 



ASSOCIATIONS. 433 

says Petrarch, u by thinking that the contagions of the 
soul are less than those of the body. They are yet 
greater ; they sink deeper, and come on more unsuspect- 
edly." From impure air, we take diseases; from bad 
company, vice and imperfection. Avoid as much as you 
can the company of all vicious persons whatever; for no 
vice is alone, and all are infectious. 

Lord Chief Justice Holt, when a young man, was very 
dissipated, and belonged to a club of wild fellows, most 
of whom took an infamous course , of life. When his 
lordship was engaged at the Old Bailey, a man was con- 
victed of highway robbery, whom the judge remembered 
to have been one of his old companions. Moved by cu- 
riosity, Holt, thinking the fellow did not know him, asked 
what had become of his old associates. The culprit, 
making a low Bow, and fetching a deep sigh, replied: 
" Ah, my lord, they are all hanged but your lordship and 
me." One unruly animal will learn all others in company 
bad tricks, and the Bible says, " One sinner destroys 
much good." "He that walketh with wise men shall be 
wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." 
Keep good company, for by conversing and associating 
with others you become assimilated to, or like those 
whose company you keep. If they be good, it is a great 
means to make you good, or to confirm you in goodness; 
but if they be bad, it is twenty to one that they will cor- 
rupt or infect you. If they be intelligent, prudent and 
wise, they will improve you in intelligence, prudence and 
wisdom ; but if they be ignorant, rash or foolish, to keep 
their company will greatly tend to make you so. Water 
will seek its level. So do the various elements of society. 
If ever you see any common rascal let as readily as your- 
self into a house you visit, go out of it immediately. No 
matter how urgently a bad man may invite you to his 
house, be very careful not to "put your foot in it." It is 
said to be a property of the tree-frog that it acquires the 
color of whatever it adheres to for a short time. Thus, 
when found on growing corn it is commonly of a dark- 
green. If found on the white oak, it assumes a color 
peculiar to that tree. Just so it is with men. Tell us 

28 



434 ASSOCIATIONS. 

whom you choose and prefer as companions, and we cer- 
tainly can tell who you are like. Do you love the society 
of the vulgar? Then you are already debased in your 
sentiments. Do you seek to be with the profane? in 
your heart you are like them. Are jesters and buffoons 
your choice friends ? He who loves to laugh at folly is 
himself a fool. Do ydu love and seek the society of the 
wise and good? Is this your habit? Had you rather 
take the lowest seat among these than the highest seat 
among others ? Then you have already learned to be 
good. You may not make very much progress, but even 
a good beginning is not to be despised. Hold on your 
way, and seek to be the companion of those that fear 
God. So you shall be wise for yourself, and wise for 
eternity. 

No man of position can allow himself to associate, with- 
out prejudice, with the profane, the Sabbath-breakers, 
the drunken, and the licentious, for he lowers himself, 
without elevating them. The sweep is not made the less 
black by rubbing against the well-dressed and the clean, 
while they are inevitably defiled. The Persians have this 
beautiful fable to show the value of good company. U A 
philosopher was one day astonished by the fragrance of 
a piece of clay. On asking how it came to have so sweet 
a perfume, the clay answered: "I was once a piece of 
common clay, but I was placed for some time in the com- 
pany of a rose, and the sweet quality of my company 
was communicated to me; otherwise, I should only be a 
piece of common clay, as I appear to be." Tell me with 
whom thou art found, and I will tell thee whom thou art : 
let me know thy chosen employment, and what to ex- 
pect from thee I know. Describe your company and you 
will describe yourself. 

Kings have been declared to be "lovers of low com- 
pany:" and this maxim, besides the reason sometimes as- 
signed for it, viz., that they meet with less opposition to 
their wills from such persons, will, we suspect, be found 
to turn at last on the consideration, that they also there 
meet with more sympathy in their tastes. The most ig- 
norant and thoughtless have the greatest admiration of 



ASSOCIATIONS. 435 

the baubles, the outward symbols of pomp and power, 
the sound and show, which are the habitual delight and 
mighty prerogative of kings. The stupidest slave wor- 
ships the gaudiest tyrant. The high minded and the low 
minded come in contact without mixing, like oil and 
water. Keep company with persons rather above than 
below yourself, for gold in the same pocket with silver 
loseth both of its color and weight. Never take into your 
confidence, or admit often into your company, any man 
who does not know, on some important subject, more 
than you do. Be his rank, be his virtues, what they may, 
he will be a hindrance to your pursuits, and an obstruc- 
tion to your greatness. Nothing elevates us so much as 
the presence of a spirit similar, yet superior, to our own. 
What is companionship, where nothing that improves the 
intellect is communicated, and where the larger heart 
contracts itself to the model and dimension of the smaller ? 
Washington was won't to say, "Be courteous to all, 
but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried be- 
fore you give them your confidence." It should be the 
aim of young men to go into good society. We do not 
mean the rich, the proud and fashionable, but the society 
of the wise, the intelligent and good. Where you find 
men that know more than you do, and from whose con- 
versation one can gain information, it is always safe to be 
found. It has broken down many a man by associating 
with the low and vulgar, where the ribald song and the 
indecent story were introduced to excite laughter and 
influence the bad passions. Lord Clarendon has attrib- 
uted his success and happiness in life, to associating with 
persons more learned and virtuous than himself. If you 
wish to be respected — if you desire happiness and not 
misery, we advise you to associate with the intelligent 
and good. Strive for mental excellence and strict integ- 
rity, and you never will be found in the sinks of pollu- 
tion, and on the benches of retailers and gamblers. Once 
habituate yourself to a virtuous course — once secure a 
love of good society, and no punishment would be 
greater than by accident to be obliged for a half a day 
to associate with the low and vulgar. Try to frequent 



436 NEIGHBORS. 

the company of your betters. In book and life it is the 
most wholesome society : learn to admire rightly ; the 
great pleasure of life is that. Note what the great men 
admire — they admire great things ; narrow spirits admire 
basely, and worship meanly. It is an authentic anecdote 
of the late and learned Dr. Bowditch, of Massachusetts, 
that at the age of twenty-one, he sailed to the East Indies, 
and that during the voyage he taught the ship's crew the 
art of navigation. Every one of these sailors subse- 
quently became ship-masters. Such were the conse- 
quences of associating with a man whose mind was richly 
stored with useful knowledge, and whose heart was full 
of good will toward his fellow man. 

To be fully up with the century, live habitually, when 
young, with those older than yourself, and, when old, 
with those younger. A good rule — to keep good com- 
pany, and be one of the number. Out of good men 
choose acquaintances, of acquaintances, friends. 

We naturally associate with the gay in our days of hap- 
piness, but turn to the sympathising when misfortune 
overtakes us ; as we seek the festive hall in our hours of 
mirth, and fly to the solitude of our chamber in those of 
sorrow. 

No man can avoid his own company — so he had best 
make it as good as possible. 



NEIGHBORS. 

Little meddling makes fair parting. • 

Endeavor to make peace among thy neighbors. It is 
a worthy and reputable action, and will bring greater 
and more just commendations to thee, and more benefit 
to those with whom thou conversest, than wit or learning, 
or any of those so much admired accomplishments. The 
honest man will rather be the grave to his neighbor's 
errors, than in any way expose them. A man stopping 
at a tavern for rest and refreshments began to talk about 
his journey. He had come from a neighboring town; 



NEIGHBORS. 437 

he was moving away, and glad enough to get away, too. 
Such a set of 'neighbors as he had there, unkind, disoblig- 
ing, contrary, it was enough to make any one want to 
leave the place, and he had started, and was to settle in 
another region, where he could find a different set of in- 
habitants. u Well," said the landlord, u you will find just 
such neighbors where you are going." The next night 
another man stopped at the inn. He, too, was on a jour- 
ney — was moving. On inquiry, it was found that he 
came from the same place from which the former traveler 
had come. He said he had been obliged to move from 
where he lived, and he did not mind leaving so much as 
he did leaving his neighbors, they were so kind, consid- 
erate, accommodating and generous, that he felt very 
sorrowful at the thought of leaving them and -going 
among strangers, especially as he could not tell what kind 
of neighbors he would find. " Oh, well, said the land- 
lord, a you will find just such neighbors where you are 
going." Does it not seem possible that men will generally 
find such neighbors as they are looking for? Some 
people are always in trouble; others "follow peace with 
all men." Who knows but we can have just such neigh- 
bors as we wish for, simply by treating them as we 
ought to? 

The practical good sense of Jefferson's family letters is 
characteristic of the man. In a letter to his eldest daugh- 
ter (Mrs. Randolph,) he says: — "I am happy to find you 
are on good terms with your neighbors. It is almost the 
mcst important circumstance in life, since nothing is so 
corroding as frequently to meet persons with whom one 
has any difference. The ill-will of a single neighbor is an 
immense drawback on the happiness of life, and therefore 
their good will cannot be bought too dear." This is home 
philosophy which all will feel, and would do well to 
practice. 

One's pleasure, after all, is much affected by the quality 
of one's neighbors, even though one may not be on 
speaking terms with them. A pleasant, bright face at 
the window is surely better than a discontented, cross 
one ; and a house that has the air of being inhabited is 



438 FRIENDS. 

preferable to closed shutters and unsocial blinds, exclud- 
ing every ray of sunlight and sympathy. We like to see 
glancing, cheerful lights through the windows of a cold 
night, or watch them as evening deepens, gradually 
creep from the parlor to the upper stories of the houses 
near us. "We like to watch the little children go in and 
out the door, to play or go to school. We like to see a 
white robed baby, dancing up and down at the window 
in its mother's arms, or the father reading his newspaper 
there at evening, or any of these cheerful impromptu 
home glimpses, which, though we are no Paul Pry, we 
will assert make a pleasant neighborhood to those who 
live for comfort instead of show. Sad, indeed, some 
morning on waking, it is to see the blinds down and the 
shutters closed, and know that death's angel, while it 
spared our threshold, has crossed that of our cheerful 
neighbor; sad to miss the robed baby from the window, 
and see the little coffin at night-fall borne into the house ; 
sad to see innocent little faces pressed at eventide against 
the window-pane, watching for the " dear papa" who has 
gone to his long home. 

The divine injunction, "love thy neighbor as thyself," 
is the great second command, and as such requires the 
ready and full compliance of those who love the Lord. 



FRIENDS. 

One old friend is worth two new ones. 

Old friends! What a multitude of deep and varied 
emotions are called forth from the soul by the utterance 
of these two words. What thronging memories of other 
days crowd the brain when they are spoken ; ah, there is 
a magic in the sound and the spell which it creates is 
both sad and pleasing. As we sit by our fireside, while 
the winds are making wild melody without the walls of 
our cottage, and review the scenes of by-gone years 
which flit before us in swift succession, dim and shadowy 
as the recollections of a dream — how those "old familiar 



FRIENDS. 439 

faces," will rise up and haunt our vision with their well 
remembered features. But ah, where are they? those 
friends of our youth — those kindred spirits who shared 
our joy and sorrows when first we started in the pilgrim- 
age of life. Companions of our early days, they are 
endeared to us by many a tie, and we now look back 
through the vista of years, upon the hours of our com- 
munion, as upon green oases in a sandy waste. Years 
have passed over us with their buds and flowers, their 
fruits and snows; and where now are those ''old familiar 
faces?" They are scattered, and over many of their last 
narrow homes, the thistle waves its lonely- head; "after 
life's fitful fever they sleep well." Some are buffeting 
the billows of Time's stormy sea in distant land's; though 
they are absent our thoughts are often with them. A few 
perhaps yet remain, and we meet them oft as we pursue 
our daily vocation. To those we cling with a closer 
grasp as the auburn of their locks fade into grey. They 
are as a cluster of sere leaves in winter which have with- 
stood the chill winds of November ; each one that drops 
off binds the others yet closer unto us. Time and changes 
cement our friendship, and when an old friend passes off 
the stage, his absence creates a blank which new ones 
can never fill. Our life is a devious path and as we pass 
along, our companions drop off one by one, and new 
faces supply their place, until we seem to move in a 
strange world and amid strange people. The rocks and 
the hills, the streams and the trees remain in the places 
which they filled of yore, but the u old familiar faces" 
with whom we wandered along their banks and beneath 
their shade, have long since departed, and a sensation of 
loneliness comes over us, even when mingling in a crowd. 
The thoughts which fill the mind when musing upon the 
joys of u lang syne" are of a chastened character. We 
are freed for a time from the shackles of selfishness and 
contemplate the purer and kindlier traits of the soul. 
We behold the footprints of Time as marked by the pen- 
cilings of decay — in the scenes of the past we behold a 
type of the future — the fate ot our friends shadows forth 
that of ourselves, and dull are we if we arise not from 



440 FRIENDS. 

fancied communication with old friends, both wiser and 
better men. 

It is a wretched fate, generally, to be cut off from all 
intercourse with the relatives and friends with whom one's 
first years were passed. There are affections and interests 
between you and them which can never exist between 
later friends and familiars, however dear these may 
become. No matter how true and kind may be the inti- 
mates of mature life, there will always be wanting some- 
thing to our intercourse with them, and that something 
is the common interests which they have whose first de- 
cade, or score of years, was spent amid the self-same 
scenes and people. To childhood's friends the heart 
opens more easily than to any others — at least that por- 
tion of it that had become unsealed before we parted. 
We feel perfectly natural and at our ease with those that 
know us well. We are not careful to keep anything back 
lest we be misunderstood. We are not afraid to give our 
old-time thoughts, feelings and actions free play, for they 
did not disgust us once, and we don't think that they will 
now. In all that we remain unchanged, we feel ourselves 
as unfettered as though we were actually alone, when we 
are with those that knew and loved us in childhood. 
But — and here comes in the other side — if we have 
changed, if we have moved onward and away from what 
we once thought about the right and only path, among 
our early friends is the last place on earth to look for tol- 
eration. They walk and act and think still in what to 
them is " the good old way," and though they might allow 
wide differences in strangers that sojourn among them, 
be sure that they never abide any such thing in us. If 
we have taken on stricter notions than their's, they feel 
that we are stiff and proud, and that we must be brought 
down; if bolder and more liberal, they treat us with 
holy horror, and urge us to return to the right ways of 
our youth. If we differ in anything from their ideas of 
the best way, we must be pestered, and rebuked, and an- 
noyed, until we submit to renounce or conceal our senti- 
ments. Every one who has been much from home has 
had more or less of this experience. Great men are pe- 



FRIENDS. 441 

culiarly subject to it. Abroad in the world they are re- 
spected, almost feared ; their privacy and their rights are 
carefully secured to them. None think of intruding on 
them. Every one speaks to them and treats them with 
the utmost consideration. Their very whims are re- 
spected, and there is not a man who would be so bold as 
to find fault with their habits. Oddity is considered quite 
excusable in them. They are hardly held accountable to 
the same laws that rule other people. But just let the 
great man go home, where he is at once invested by 
brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, former playmates, &c, 
and what has become of his greatness ? 

Goethe says: — "Old friends, who have been long 
absent, should not meet. They do not understand one 
another. Each has learned a new language. Whoever 
is interested in his own culture should especially avoid 
this, for the inevitable misunderstanding can only work 
upon us unfavorably, and destroy the image of the former 
relations." 

The hardest trial of those who fa]l from affluence and 
honor to poverty and obscurity, is the discovery that the 
attachment of so many in whom they confided was a pre- 
tence, a mask to gain their own ends, or was a miserable 
shallowness. Sometimes, doubtless, it is with regret that 
these frivolous followers of the world desert those upon 
whom they have fawned; but they soon forget them. 
Elies leave the kitchen when the dishes are empty. The 
parasites that cluster about the favorite of fortune, to 
gather his gifts and climb by his aid, linger with the sun- 
shine, but scatter at the approach of a storm, as the 
leaves cling to a tree in summer weather, but drop off at 
the breath of winter, and leave it naked to the stinging 
blast. Like ravens settled down for a banquet, and sud- 
denly scared by a noise, how quickly at the first sound 
of calamity these superficial earthlings are specks on the 
horizon. But a true friend sits in the centre, and is for 
all times. Our need only reveals him more fully, and 
binds him more closely to us. Prosperity and adversity 
are both revealers, the difference being that in the former 
our friends know us, in the latter we know them. But, 



442 FRIENDS. 

notwithstanding the insincerity and greediness prevalent 
among men, there is a vast deal more of esteem and 
fellow-yearning than is ever outwardly shown. There are 
more examples of unadulterated affection, more deeds of 
silent love and magnanimity, than is usually supposed. 
Our misfortunes bring to our side real friends, before un- 
known. Benevolent impulses where we should not 
expect them, in modest privacy enact many a scene of 
beautiful wonder amidst the plaudits of angels. And, 
upon the whole, fairly estimating the glory, the uses, and 
the actual and possible prevalence of the friendly senti- 
ment, we must cheerily strike lyre and lift voice to the 
favorite song, confessing, after every complaint is ended, 
that 

" There is a power to make each hour 

As sweet as Heaven designed it ; 
Nor need we roam to bring it home, 

Though few there be to find it ! 
We seek too high for things close by, 

And lose what nature found us ; 
For life hath here no charm so dear 

As home and friends around us." 

There is no pain like that caused by the loss of faith in 
our friends. It is the undermining of the very founda- 
tion of our earthly happiness. To know that words 
stand for anything save sincerity ; to know that treachery 
lurks under a caress, vengeful feelings under a smile, de- 
ception in every look, word and action — what has life 
left to offer when, the film being removed, this dreadful 
truth becomes apparent? Nothing, to the soul untrue to 
itself — to the soul who has anchored its all here; every- 
thing, to him or her believing that "Our Father's" hand 
is in it. That grasping madly, blindly, after earthly love, 
with the yearning nature which He himself has given us, 
though not to be chained to earth — He has but taken this 
way — so seemingly cruel — to teach us to put our trust 
where no falsehood can cause our tears to flow ; where no 
defection can torture us; where no Judas gains the ear, 
which we trustingly believed inaccessible to the traitor. 
Blessed those who, knowing this, arise courageously from 
the dust, where they have sunk mourning, and, leaning 
on the arm that never fails, accept life and its crosses, as 
did He who knew them all. 



FRIENDS. 443 

The members of the great human family appear to 
have scarcely begun to learn how much we depend on 
one another. "I perish for the want of friends!" cried 
Napoleon Bonaparte, in a paroxysm of anguish. With 
what intense anxiety did Washington call for friends from 
Congress in the darkest days of our revolution! Even 
the Saviour of the world has left on record the fact that 
he did not many mighty works in the city of his kindred, 
because he wanted friends. It is said to be an old and 
practical maxim that "there is no friendship in trade." 
We do not believe it, and we do not mean our readers 
shall, if we can help it, That maxim is a selfish, wicked, 
cruel one; and we call on honest and fair men every- 
where to scout it out of existence. No friendship in 
trade! No unselfish kindness among business men! Can 
this be so ? Is it indeed true that in commercial circles 
every man is to look on his neighbor as a villain and a 
scoundrel? Has confidence between man and man been 
destroyed by the tricks of traffic ? We do not believe it. 
Go preach such a doctrine to Hottentots, savages and 
pirates. It cannot be true of the mercantile classes in 
America. In the haste of men to be rich, when the 
facilities of intercourse, and the appliances of trade are 
so greatly increased, the obligations of kindliness and 
friendly regard are very liable to be overlooked. With 
many active business men, business becomes a scrabble, 
and they will climb and climb to reach the topmost round 
of the ladder of wealth, at times not stopping to think 
how hard they may tread on the hands of those who have 
grasped the rounds below them. Look back a moment 
and see who is struggling by your side ! Do not act as 
if all the world was made for you and your family. Be 
friendly. Be kindly. Others must live as well as you. 
Remember how hard you have had to struggle yourself, 
and lend a helping hand to your neighbor. What if you 
lose now and then? What if you are disappointed in 
your calculations of men? Do not refuse to do a new 
friendly act on that account. Think of your own short- 
comings. Be forgiving. Befriend the needy in time of 
trial, and you will be the gainer in the end. 



444 FRIENDS. 

Money can buy many things, good and evil. All the 
wealth of the world could not buy you a friend, nor pay 
you for the loss of one. "I have wanted only one thing 
to make me happy," Hazlitt writes; "but, wanting that, 
have wanted everything." And again: "My heart, shut 
up in the prison-house of this rude clay, has never found, 
nor will it ever find, a heart to speak to." We are the 
weakest of spendthrifts if we let one friend drop off 
through inattention, or let one push away another, or if 
we hold aloof from one for petty jealously or heedless 
slight or roughness. Would you throw away a diamond 
because it pricked you ? One good friend is not to be 
weighed against the jewels of all the earth. If there is 
coolness or unkindness between us, let us come face to 
face and have it out. Quick, before love grows cold ! 
u Life is too short to quarrel in," or to carry black 
thoughts of friends. If I was wrong, I am sorry ; if you, 
then I am sorrier yet, for should I not grieve for my 
friend's misfortune? and the mending of your fault does 
not lie with me. But the forgiving it does, and that is 
the happier office. Grive me your hand and call it even. 
There ! it is gone ; and I thank Heaven I keep my friend 
still! A friend is too precious a thing to be lightly held, 
but it must be a little heart that cannot find room for 
more than one or two. The kindness I feel for you 
warms me towards all the rest, makes me long to do 
something to make you all happy. It is easy to lose a 
friend, but a new one will not come for calling, nor make 
ud for the old one when he comes. 

Friends that are worth having are not made, but " grow " 
like Topsy in the novel. An old man gave this advice to 
his sons on his death-bed, "Never try to make a friend." 
Enemies come fast enough without cultivating the crop ; 
and friends who are brought forward by hot house expe- 
dients, are apt to wilt long before they are fairly ripened. 
"Friends are discovered rather than made," writes Mrs. 
Stowe. "There are people who are in their own nature 
friends, only they don't know each other; but certain 
things, like poetry, music and painting, are like the Free- 
mason's sign — they reveal the initiated to each other." 



FRIENDS. 445 

A man may have a thousand intimate acquaintances, and 
not a friend among them all. If you have one friend, 
think yourself happy. A friend — a real, true-hearted 
friend — is more rare than he should be. Why is it that 
selfishness predominates in the heart? — that he only is 
considered a friend who has money and influence ! In 
the higher walks of life, how rarely is a true friend found 
— one who will act as he feels, and speak as he thinks. 
But among the humble and pure, you will occasionally 
find the germ of pure friendship. Ye who have found a 
true friend, appreciate his worth. If he labors to benefit 
you, say not a word, perform not an act, that will send a 
thrill of pain to his bosom. If there is a crime that be- 
trays a vile heart, it is the wounding of pure affection. 
Many a one has seen too late the error of his course. 
When the grave has concealed his best friend, he felt — ■ 
ah! words will not describe the feeling. Ye who are sur- 
rounded by the kind and good — the watchful and true- 
hearted — appreciate them, we pray you. Love them in 
return for their kindness, and to the close of life they 
will continue to guard and bless you. Never forsake a 
friend. When enemies gather around, when the world 
is dark and cheerless, is the time to try a true friend. 
They who turn from a scene of distress betray their hy- 
pocrisy, and prove that only interest moves them. If 
you have a friend who loves you, who has studied your 
interest and happiness, be sure to sustain him to adver- 
sity. Let him know that his former kindness is appre- 
ciated, and that his love was not thrown away. Real 
fidelity may be rare, but it exists in the heart. They 
only deny its worth who never loved a friend, or labored 
to make a friend happy. 

We are too negligent of "the small sweet courtesies 
of life " to make friends, and then sit down and complain 
that nobody cares for us. In William Wirt's letter to his 
daughter occurs a passage which I will extract for the 
benefit of those who have made themselves friendless. 
He says — "I want to tell you a secret. The way to 
make yourself pleasing to others is to show that you care 
for them. The world is like the miller at Mansfield, who 



446 FRIENDS. 

cared for nobody — no, not he — because nobody cared for 
him. And the whole world will serve you so if you give 
them the same cause. Let every one, therefore, see that 
you do care for them, by showing them what Sterne so 
happily calls 'the small sweet courtesies of life,' in which 
there is no parade; whose voice is so still, to ease, and 
which manifest themselves by tender and affectionate 
looks, and little kind acts of attention — giving others 
the preference in every little enjoyment — at the table, in 
the field, walking, sitting, or standing." These may 
seem like small things, but try them, my friends, and see 
what good to yourselves will grow out of them. The 
greatest of all earthly blessings is to be able to lean 
your heart against another heart, faithful, tender, true and 
tried, and record, with a thankfulness that years deepen, 
instead of diminishing, "I have a friend." 

If you have a good friend you should be proud of him. 
If you would retain him as such don't presume to meddle 
with his purse. His interest, interposition, recommenda- 
tion — in short, his services, generally speaking, you may 
expect, but you must not expect his money. Ask it of 
him and he may give it without hesitation, but mark my 
word for it, every cent that passes from his pocket to 
yours quenches a spark in friendship's furnace. The 
moment you undertake to weight your own interests in 
the scale against his gold, your interests are found want- 
ing ; therefore if he is a friend worth having, do not try 
it. The man who looks upon his friends as sheep whom 
he can fleece at pleasure, will soon present the sad spec- 
tacle of a person entirely friendless. When an extrava- 
gant friend wishes to borrow money, consider which of 
the two you had rather lose. It was a saying of Pithag- 
oras that " all things should be common between friends; 
our friend is another self. However many friends you 
have, do not neglect yourself. Though you have a thou- 
sand, not one of them loves you so much as you ought to 
love yourself." 

The following parable is translated from the German : 
There was a man who had three friends ; two of these 
he loved exceedingly, but was indifferent to the third, 



FRIEXDS. 447 

who nevertheless dealt most honestly with him. One 
day he was sommoned to appear before the tribunal, 
where he was severely accused. Thinking himself inno- 
cent, he spoke thus to his three friends: — "Who of you 
will go with me and give evidence of my innocence? 
For I have been severely accused, and the King is angry." 
The first of his friends immediately excused himself that 
he could not, on account of other affairs, go with him. 
The second accompannied him as far as the door of the 
court of justice, and then turned away and went home, 
fearing the anger of the judge. The third, upon whom 
he had least reckoned went in, spoke in his behalf, and 
testified his innocence so joyfully that the judge released 
the accused and loaded him with presents. Man has 
three friends in this world. How do they conduct them- 
selves, in the hour of death, when God summons him to 
his tribunal? Wealth, his best worldly friend, is the first 
to abandon him. His relatives and friends follow him to 
the grave, and then return to their homes. The third 
friend, whom he often during his life forgot, are his be- 
neficent deeds. These alone accompany him to the 
throne of the Judge; they lead the way, speak in his 
behalf, and obtain mercy and grace. 

When Socrates was asked why he had built for himself 
so small a house, he replied, " Small as it is, I wish I 
could fill it with friends." These, indeed, are all that a 
wise man would desire to assemble ; for a crowd is not 
company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and 
talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. 
Without friends the world would be but a wilderness. It 
has ever been my opinion, says Horace, that a cheerful, 
good natured friend is so great a blessing, that it admits 
of no comparison but itself. Cicero used to say, that it 
was no less an evil for a man to be without a friend, than 
the heavens to be without a sun. It is not the seeing of 
one's friends, the having them within reach, the hearing 
of and from them, that makes them ours. Many a one 
has all that, and yet has nothing. It is believing in them, 
the depending on them, assured that they are true and 
good to the core, and therefore could not but be good 



448 FRIENDS. 

and true towards everybody else, ourselves included, aye 
whether we deserve it or not. It is not our deserts 
which are in question ; it is their goodness, which, once 
settled, the rest follows of course. They would be 
untrue to themselves, if they were insincere or untrue 
to us. 

Princes have courtiers, and merchants have partners; 
the voluptuous have companions, and the wicked have 
accomplices ; none but the virtuous can have friends. 

If you wish to know how many friends you have, get 
into office; if you wish to know how many friends you 
haven't, get into trouble. 

There are three kinds of friends — friends who love 
you, friends who do not trouble themselves about you, 
and friends who hate you. 

We have need either of faithful friends or sharp ene- 
mies. It is less dangerous to have a prudent enemy 
than an indiscreet friend. There is more danger from a 
pretended friend than lrom an open enemy. A friend 
exaggerates a man's virtues, an enemy his crimes. 

The man who has friends who would die for him, and 
foes who would love to see him broiled alive, is usually 
a man of some worth and force. The qualities of your 
friends will be those of your enemies; cold friends, cold 
enemies ; half friends, half enemies ; fervid enemies, warm 
friends. Those who reprove us are more valuable friends 
than those who flatter us. True progress requires either 
faithful friends or severe enemies. Those who seem most 
indifferent to us in our joy may prove the warmest friends 
in our sorrow. The springs that are coldest in summer 
never freeze in winter. He who will break his 'last loaf 
with you, but never his faith, is a true friend. Account 
him thy real friend who desires thy good, rather than thy 
good- will. He loves you better who strives to make you 
good, than he who strives to please you. Worthy minds 
deny themselves many advantages to satisfy a generous 
benevolence, which they bear to their friends in distress. 

He is a good friend who supplies our wants, but he is 
a better one who anticipates them. Showers that are 
prayed for always come too late. Though we ought not. 



FRIENDS. 449 

to love our friends only, for the good they do us ; yet it 
is plain they do not love us, if they do not assist us when 
it is in their power. He that hath but few books, and 
those good, may receive more improvement from them, 
than another who hath a great number of indifferent 
ones. So it is in the choice of our friends; no matter how 
few, if they be discreet and virtuous. It was a saying of 
Aristotle that he is happy that finds a true friend in ex- 
tremity; but he is much more so, who findeth not extrem- 
ity, whereby to try his friend. 

There is no pre-eminence among true friends ; for 
whether they are equally accomplished or not, they are 
equally affected to each other. A false friend is like the 
shadow *on the sun-dial, appearing in sunshine, but van- 
ishing in shade. 

Prosperity is no just scale; adversity is the only bal- 
ance to weigh friends in. A man never has the least diffi- 
culty in finding a devoted friend, except when he needs 
one. Real friends are wont to visit us in our prosperity 
only when invited, but in adversity to come on their own 
accord. A friend is never known till needed. A friend 
cannot be known in prosperity, and an enemy cannot be 
hidden in adversity. If we lack the sagacity to discrimi- 
nate nicely between our acquaintances and our friends, 
misfortune will readily do it for us. Prosperity gains 
friends, and adversity tries them. As it is virtue which 
should determine us in the choice of our friends ; so it is 
that alone which we should always regard in them, with- 
out inquiring into their good or ill fortune. A friend will 
tell you of your faults and follies in prosperity, and assist 
you with his hands and heart in adversity. 

A friend should be one in whose understanding and 
virtue we can equally confide, and whose opinion we can 
value at once for its justness and its sincerity. Rela- 
tives are not necessarily our 'best friends, but they cannot 
do us an injury without being enemies to themselves. A 
friend is often more valuable than a relative. Go to 
strangers for charity, acquaintances for advice, relatives 
for nothing. A friend of everybody is a friend to- 
nobody. 



450 FRIENDS. 

How to make and lose friends : You may win a friend 
by doing him a service — but, in nine cases out of ten, 
you will probably lose him again if you require him to 
do you one. It is always in our power to make a friend 
by smiles; what a folly, then, to make an enemy by 
frowns. Never purchase friends by gifts, for if you cease 
to give, they will cease to love. A friend that you buy 
with presents will be bought from you. If you hear a 
person saying that he hasn't a friend in the world, you 
may be pretty sure that he doesn't deserve one. An act 
by which we make one friend and one enemy is a losing 
game, for revenge is a much stronger principle than grat- 
itude. Some persons choose their friends as they do 
other useful animals, preferring those from whom they 
expect the most service. Procure no friends in haste, 
nor, if once secured, in haste abandon them. 

Be slow in choosing a friend, and slower to change 
him ; courteous to all ; intimate with few ; slight no man 
for poverty, nor esteem any one for his wealth. Good 
friends should not be easily forgotten, nor used as suits 
of apparel, which, when we have worn them threadbare, 
we cast off, and call for new. When once you profess 
yourself a friend, endeavor to be always such. He can 
never have any true friends, that will be often changing 
them. Whoever moves you to part with a true and tried 
friend, has certainly a design to make way for a treach- 
erous enemy. To part with a tried friend without very 
great provocation, is unreasonable levity. Nothing but 
plain malevolence can justify disunion. The loss of a 
friend is like that of a limb ; time may heal the anguish 
of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired. You will 
never have a friend if you must have one without a fail- 
ing. It was a fine and true remark that they who will 
abandon a friend for one error, know but little of the 
human character, and prove that their hearts are cold as 
their judgments are weak. All men have their frailties. 
Whoever looks for a friend without imperfections, will 
never find what he seeks; we love ourselves with all our 
faults, and we ought to love our friends in like manner. 
If we have not the indulgence to pardon our friends, nor 



FRIENDS. 451 

they the same to pardon us, our friendship will last no 
Ion o;er than it can serve both our interests. 

One friend is not bound to bear a part in the follies of 
another, but rather to dissuade him from them ; even 
though he cannot consent to tell him plainly, as Phocian 
did Antipater, who said to him, I cannot be both your 
friend and flatterer. It is a good rule always to back 
your friends and face your enemies. Whoever would 
reclaim his friend, and bring him to a true and perfect 
understanding of himself, may privately admonish, but 
never publicly reprehend him. An open admonition is 
an open disgrace. 

Have the courage to cut the most agreeable acquaint- 
ance you have, when you are convinced he lacks principle ; 
a friend should bear with a friend's infirmities, but not with 
his vices. He that does a base thing in zeal for his friend, 
burns the golden thread that ties their hearts together. 

The friends of this world are but spies on our conduct. 

A faithful friend is a good defense. 

The friend who pardons a great wrong, acquires a su- 
periority that wounds the self-love of the pardoned man ; 
and, however much the latter may admire the generosity 
of the forgiver, he can love as he had previously done — 
no more. 

To all men the best friend is virtue, the best compan- 
ions are high endeavors and honorable sentiments. 

Every deceased friend is a magnet that draws us into 
another world. 

He who is a friend to himself has seldom any lack of 
enemies; but he who is his own enemy, is generally con- 
sidered a clever fellow, and has a plenty of friends and 
well-wishers. 

" And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, 
And who not needs, shall never ]ack a friend; 
But who in want, a hollow friend doth try, 
Directly seasons him his enemy." 

He that is thy friend indeed, 

He will help thee in thy need ; 

If thou sorrow, he will weep ; 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep ; 

Thus, of every grief in heart, 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from nattering foe.— Shak. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

There is certainly something refining in an intimacy 
cemented by the pure principles of Friendship. Mind 
naturally seeks to commingle with its kindred spirit, and 
doing so it grows better and wiser for the intercourse. 
It seeks, too, for expansion — for a greater scope of power 
— for a higher and holier state; and in congenial society, 
where high moral principles prevail, it finds food for its 
growth. Hence we should cultivate the "ties of friend- 
ship," and strive to enlarge that communion of spirit 
whereby one is made better. We should seek ardently 
for that better and higher state, and though we find we 
may not make that rapid progress we desire, yet we 
should take hope to secure all the improvement possible 
from our privileges. We should strive the more to culti- 
vate and merit the friendship of those whose worth shines 
pre-eminent in their characters, making them patterns of 
excellence for others to admire and imitate. 

Friendship is a sweet attraction of the heart toward 
the merit we esteem or the perfections we admire, and 
produces a mutual inclination between two or more per- 
sons, to promote each other's interest, knowledge virtue 
and happiness. The sweetest and most satisfactory con- 
nections in life are those formed between persons of con- 
genial minds, equally linked together by the conformity 
of their virtues, and by all the ties of esteem. Friend- 
ship is the most sacred of all moral bonds. Trusts of 
confidence, without any express stipulation or caution, 
are yet, in the very nature of them, as sacred, as if they 
were guarded with a thousand articles or conditions. 
Friendship has a notable effect upon all states and condi- 
tions. It relieves our cares, raises our hopes, and abates 
our fears. A friend who relates his success, talks him- 
self into a new pleasure; and by opening his misfortunes, 
leaves part of them behind him. Friendship improves 
happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy 

452 



FRIENDSHIP. 453 

and dividing our grief. Charity is friendship in common 
and friendship is charity inclosed. 

Friendship is but one of the manifold modes of ex- 
pressing the Universal Brotherhood of the race. All 
nations, kindred, tongues and people are bound together 
in a deep and everlasting bond of Fraternity and Love, 
the harmonial and universal expression of which exter- 
nally would inaugurate the long-hoped-for millenium. 
This fraternal sentiment, paradoxical as it may appear, 
underlies all wars, insurrections, social strife and personal 
antipathies and antagonisms. If men would, in all their 
disputes, national and individual, revert to this fact, and 
consider that its orderly manifestation takes place only 
through the law of Justice and equal rights, and their 
perceptions were so clear as to trace it in all cases, how- 
ever complicated, war, bloodshed and massacre would 
disappear from the earth. If the military heroes, who 
were parties to the following anecdote, had made friend- 
ship before they broke each other's skulls, it would have 
been just as cordial and enduring. So, if nations would 
make friendship on the basis of Equity before they butch- 
ered each other, it would be just as lasting and loving. 
Powder and ball, since the world began, never made 
wrong right or right wrong. Neither do wars, massacres 
or butcheries alter in the least the natural, underlying 
fraternal relations of the belligerents. They may modify 
the external international relations, but they can never 
essentially divorce man from man or nation from nation. 
The fraternal bond was just as perfect and authoritative 
before as after. Lieut. Montgomery had seen military 
service. However, the wars were over, and he had 
nought to do but lounge as best he could through half 
pay. He was one day taking his ease at his tavern, when 
he observed a stranger, evidently a foreigner, gazing in- 
tently at him. The Lieutenant appeared not to notice 
the intrusion, and shifted his position ; but the stranger 
shifted too, and still with unblenched. gaze stared. This 
was too much for Montgomery, who arose and approached 
the scrutinizing stanger. u Do you know me, sir?" asked 
the Lieutenant. "I think I do," answered the foreigner, 



454 FRIENDSHIP. 

who was evidently a Frenchman. "Have we ever met 
before?' continued Montgomery. U I will not swear to 
it," said the stranger ; "but if we have — and I am almost 
sure we have — you have a saber cut, a deep one, on your 
right wrist." U I have," cried Montgomery, turning back 
his sleeve and displaying a very broad and ugly scar. "I 
did not get this for nothing, for the brave fellow who 
made it was repaid by me with a gash across his scull." 
The Frenchman removed his hat, bent down his had, and 
parting his hair with his hands, he said, u You may look 
at the receipt!" The next moment they were locked in 
each other's arms. They became true friends for life. 

Friendship is a flower that blooms in all seasons; it 
may be seen flourishing on the snow-capped mountains 
of Northern Russia, as well as in more favored valleys of 
sunny Italy, every where cheering us by its exquisite and 
indescribable charms. No surveyed chart, no national 
boundary line, no rugged mountain or steep declining- 
vale, put a limit to its growth. Wherever it is watered 
with the dews of kindness and affection, there you may 
be sure to find it. Allied in closest companionship with 
its twin sister, Charity, it enters the abode of sorrow and 
wretchedness, and causes happiness and peace. It 
knocks at the lonely and disconsolate heart; and speaks 
words of encouragement and joy. Its all-powerful influ- 
ence hovers o'er contending armies, and unites the 
deadly foes in the closest bonds of sympathy and kind- 
ness. Its eternal and universal fragrance dispels every 
poisoned thought of envy, and purifies the mind with a 
holy and priceless contentment, which all the pomp and 
power of earth could not bestow. In vain do we look 
for this heavenly flower in the cold, calculating worldling; 
the poor, deluded wretch is dead to every feeling of its 
ennobling virtue. In vain do we look for it in the actions 
of the proud and aristocratic votaries of fashion; the 
love of self display, and of the false and fleeting pleas- 
ures of the world, has banished it forever from their 
hearts. In vain do we look for it in the thoughtless and 
practical throng, who with loud laugh, and extended 
open hands, proclaim obedience to its laws — while at the 



FRIENDSHIP. 455 

same time the canker of malice and envy and detraction 
is enthroned in their hearts, and active on their tongues. 
Friendship, true friendship, can only be found to bloom 
in the soil of a noble and self-sacrificing heart; there it 
has a perennial summer, a never-ending season of felicity 
and joy to its happy possessor, casting a thousand rays 
of love and hope and peace to all around. 

The first law of friendship is sincerity ; and he who 
violates this law, will soon find himself destitute of what 
he so erringly seeks to gain; for the deceitful heart of 
such an one will soon betray itself, and feel the contempt 
due to insincerity. The world is so full of selfishness, 
that true friendship is seldom found ; yet it is often sought 
for paltry gain by the base and designing. Behold that 
toiling miser, with his ill-got and worthless treasures; his 
soul is never moved by the hallowed influence of the 
sacred boon of friendship, which renews again on earth 
lost Eden's faded bloom, and flings hope's halcyon halo 
over the wastes of life. The envious man, — he, too, 
seeks to gain the applause of others for an unholy usage, 
by which he may usurp a seat of pre-eminence for him- 
self. Self-love, the spring of motion, acts upon his soul. 
All are fond of praise, and many are dishonest in the use 
of means to obtain it; hence it is often difficult to dis- 
tinguish between true and false friendship — for 

" Disguise so near the truth doth seem to run, 
1 Tis doubtful whom to seek or whom to shun ; 
Nor know we when to spare or when to strike, 
Our friends and foes they seem so much alike." 

There are in human life three tragedies of friendship. 
First, the deficiency of it — there is so much less than we 
want. Few are satisfied with their share, or would be if 
they thought and felt enough to know the depths of 
their own hearts. "The friend is some fair, floating isle 
of palms, eluding us mariners in the Pacific seas." Many 
and many a man might sigh from his death-bed, U I have 
pined and prayed all my life, and never found one friend 
to satisfy my heart;" and the breast-harp of millions, 
tuned to the same experience, would murmur in melan- 



456 FRIENDSHIP. 

choly repose through the halls of the world. Secondly, 
the decay or loss of it. Sometimes it cools from day to 
day — warm confidence giving gradual place to chill civil- 
ity, civilities swiftly becoming icy husk of neglect and 
repugnance. Sometimes its relics touch us with a pang, 
or we stand at its grave, sobbing, " wounded with a grief 
whose balsam never grew." Thirdly, the desecration and 
expulsion of it by hypocrites and traitors. The harshest 
draught in the cup of life is wrung from betrayed affec- 
tions. When the guiding light of friendship is quenched 
in deception, the freezing gloom that surrounds our path 
grows palpable, and drooping faith and hope perish in 
its shade. Let one find cold repulse or mocking treachery 
where he has garnered up his dearest treasures, and it is 
not strange if he feels as though the firm realities of 
time and sense had become shadows, and the solid globe 
broken like an empty bead of foam. 

Life is to be fortified by many friendships, says Sidney 
Smith. To love and to be loved is the greatest happi- 
ness of existence. If I lived under the burning sun of 
the equator it would be a pleasure to me to think that 
there were human beings on the other side of the world 
who regarded and respected me ; I could not and would 
not live if I were alone upon the earth and cut off from 
the remembrance of my fellow-creatures. It is not that 
a man has occasion to fall back upon the kindness of his 
friends. Perhaps he may never experience the necessity 
of doing so; but we are governed by our imaginations, 
and they stand there as a solid bulwark against all the 
evils of life. Friendship should be formed with persons 
of all ages and conditions, and with both sexes. I have 
a friend who is a bookseller, to whom I have been very 
civil, and who would do anything to serve me; and I 
have two or three small friendships among persons in 
much humbler walks of life, who, I verily believe, dome 
a considerable kindness according to their means. I am 
for a frank explanation with friends in cases of affronts. 
They sometimes save a perishing friendship, and even 
place it upon a firmer basis than at first; but secret dis- 
content must always end badly. Friendship, founded on 



FRIENDSHIP. 457 

the principles of worldly morality, recognized by virtu- 
ous heathens, such as that which subsisted between Atti- 
cus and Cicero, which the last of these illustrious men 
has rendered immortal, is fitted to survive through all 
the vicissitudes of life; but it belongs only to a union 
founded on religion, to continue through an endless dura- 
tion. The former of these stood the shock of conflicting 
opinions, and of a revolution that shook the world; the 
latter is destined to survive when the heavens are no 
more, and to spring fresh from the ashes of the universe. 
The former possessed all the stability which is possible 
to sublunary things; the latter partakes of the eternity 
of God. Friendship founded on worldly principles is 
natural, and though composed of the best elements of 
nature, is not exempt from its mutability and frailty: the 
latter is spiritual, and therefore unchanging and imperish- 
able. The friendship which is founded on kindred tastes 
and congenial habits, apart from piety, is permitted by 
the benignity of Providence to embellish a world, which, 
with all its magnificence and beauty, will shortly pass 
away ; that which has religion for its basis will ere long 
be transplanted in order to adorn the paradise of God. 

There is true enjoyment in that friendship which has 
its source in the innocence and uprightness of a true 
heart. Such pleasures do greatly sweeten life, easing it 
from manjr a bitter burden. A sympathizing heart finds 
an echo in sympathizing bosoms that brings back cheer- 
ing music to the spirit of the loveliest. Be all honor, 
then, to true friendship, and may it gather yet more fra- 
grant blossoms from the dew-bathed meadows of social 
intercourse to spread their aroma along the toil-worn 
road of life. What a blessing it is to have a friend to 
whom one can speak fearlessly upon any subject ; with 
whom one's deepest thoughts come simply and safely. 
0, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe 
with a person — having neither to weigh the thoughts nor 
measure the words, but pouring them all right out, just as 
they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful 
hand will take and sift them ; keep what is worth keeping, 
and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. 



458 FRIENDSHIP. 

A time comes in every human friendship, says Thomas 
Hughes, when you must go down into the depths of your- 
self, and lay bare what is there to your friend, and wait 
in fear for his answer. A few moments may do it; and 
it may be that you never do it but once. But done it 
must be, if the friendship is to be worth the name. You 
must find what is there, at the very root and bottom of 
one another's hearts; and if you are at one there, noth- 
ing on earth can, or at least ought to, sunder you. There 
can be no friendship where there is no freedom. Friend- 
ship loves a free air, and will not be penned in straight 
and narrow enclosures. It will speak freely, and act so 
too ; and take no ill where no ill is meant ; nay, when it 
is, it will easily forgive, and forget too, upon small ac- 
knowledgements. Without confidence, friendship is a 
mockery, and social intercourse a sort of war in disguise. 
The highest pleasure in friendship, is a free communica- 
tion of all thoughts, designs, and counsels. Aristotle 
says, friendship is one soul in two bodies. 

A great advantage of friendship, is the opportunity ot 
receiving good advice; it is dangerous to rely always 
upon our own opinion. Miserable is his case, who, when 
he needs, hath none to admonish him. It will be very 
fit for all that have entered into any strict friendship, to 
make this one special article in the agreement, that they 
shall mutually admonish and reprove each other. The 
difficult province in friendship is the letting a man see his 
faults and errors, which should, if possible, be so contrived, 
that he may perceive our advice is given him not so 
much to please ourselves as for his own advantage. The 
reproaches therefore of a friend should always be strictly 
just and not too frequent. 

The best friendship is to prevent a request, and never 
put a man to the confusion of asking. To ask is a word 
that lies heavily on the tongue, and cannot be uttered 
but with a dejected countenance. We should therefore 
strive to meet our friend in his wishes, if we cannot as- 
sist him. Friendship is more firmly secured by lenity 
towards failings than by attachment to excellences. The 
former is valued as kindness which cannot be claimed, 



FRIENDSHIP. 459 

the latter is exacted as a payment of a debt to merit. 
The longer. we live and the more we think, the higher 
value we learn to put on the friendship and tenderness of 
parents and friends. If we are loved by those around 
us, we can easily bear the hostility of the world; just as, 
if we are before a warm fire, we need not care for all the 
ice in the Polar regions. 

A Mountain is made up of atoms, and friendship of 
little matters and if the atoms hold not together, the 
mountain is crumbled into dust. A friendship that 
makes the least noise is often the most useful ; for which 
reason I should prefer a prudent friend to a zealous one. 
Friendship is a silent gentleman that makes no parade; 
the true heart dances no hornpipe on the tongue. Friend- 
ship is like phosphorus. It shines best when all around 
is dark. 

That friendship which consists only in the reciproca- 
tion of civil offices, is but a kind of traffic ; and it abides 
no longer than whilst such men can be useful to one an- 
other. It is a negotiation, not a friendship, that has an 
eye to advantages. A friendship of interest lasts no 
longer than the interest continues : whereas true affection 
is of the nature of a diamond ; it is lasting, and it is hard 
to break. The friendship of an artful man is mere self- 
interest ; you will get nothing and may lose much by it. 
The friendships of the world are often confederacies in 
vice or leagues of pleasure. Never contract friendship 
with a man who is no better than thyself 

Many begin friendships, and cancel them on slight oc- 
casions; and great enmity often succeeds a tender affec- 
tion. Let friendship creep gently to a height; if it rush 
to it, it may soon run itself out of breath. Friendship 
often ends in love; but love in friendship — never. A 
gentle acceptance of courtesies is as material to maintain 
friendship, as bountiful presents. 

There is requisite to friendship more goodness and 
virtue, than dexterity of wit, or height of understanding ; 
it being enough, that men have sufficient prudence to be 
as good as they should be, in order to the completing of 
a virtuous friendship. The water that flows from a spring 



460 FRIENDSHIP. 

does not congeal in the winter. And those sentiments 
of friendship which flow from the heart cannot be frozen 
by adversity. Nothing can impair perfect friendship, 
because truth is the only bond of it. 

Friendship can never suffer so much by any other kind 
of wrong, as by that of a causeless suspicion. Dr. John- 
son says that "among the enemies of friendship are sus- 
picion and disgust The former is always hardening the 
cautious, the latter always repelling the delicate." Noth- 
ing is more grievous than the loss of his friendship whom 
we have greatly esteemed, and least feared would fail us. 
Friendship is a vase, which, when it is flawed by heat, or 
violence, or accident, may as well be broken at once ; 
it never can be trusted after. The more graceful and or- 
namental it was, the more clearly, do we discern the 
hopelessness of restoring it to its former state. Coarse 
stones, if they are fractured, may be cemented again; 
precious ones, never. There is so great a charm in 
friendship, that there is even a kind of pleasure in ac- 
knowledging ourself duped by the sentiment it inspires. 

Friendship with a generous stranger, is commonly 
more steady than with the nearest relation. Being some- 
times asunder heightens friendship. The great cause of 
the frequent quarrels between relations is their being so 
much together. Constant companionship is not enjoya- 
ble, any more than constant eating is a possibility. We 
sit too long at the table of friendship when we out-sit 
our appetites for each other's thoughts. 

If the minds be consonant, says Dr. Fuller, the best 
friendship is between different fortunes. Says Lord 
Bacon, there is little friendship in the world, and least of 
all between equals, who are wont to be magnified. That 
which is, is between superior and inferior, whose fortunes 
may comprehend each other. 

Whatever is excellent hath most of unity; and as a 
river divided into several streams, is more weak, so friend- 
ship shared amongst many, is always languid and impo- 
tent. It is said to be a certain principle, that friendship 
cannot long subsist between many persons. 



HUMAN NATURE. 

Every man is a volume, if you but knew how to read 
him. There is a great deal in a face ; all the interest of 
life depends on face. A thousand acts of thought, and 
will, and deed, shape the features and expression of the 
soul — habits of love, and purity, and truth — habits of 
falsehood, malice and uncleanness — silently mould and 
fashion it, till at length it wears the likeness of God, or 
the image and superscription of the Evil One. . 

One of the most interesting branches of physiognomy 
would be the study of that influence which a frequent 
repetition of analogous sentiments and thoughts exer- 
cises on the countenance. Difficult as this examination 
is, its object is not chimerical. Often-recurring emotions 
act on the features like those geological changes by which 
a rock is either gradually disintegrated, or slowly raised 
up to a higher level. Close observations can establish a 
relation between an expression and the fact that is most 
likely to have influenced it. Thus it may be ascertained 
that there is an indescribable sort of flash or light in the 
eye of a person telling a falsehood, as if the mind was 
making an effort, as it were, to swerve from the truth, 
thereby causing more nervous power to be evolved from 
the eye than on usual occasions. Frequent acts of de- 
ception imprint a peculiar cast to the features. Again, 
frequent mental labor appends its signet to the features ; a 
number of .occupations leave their stamp on the face. 
Who cannot discover the gambler as he promenades 
Broadway? Dress him as you will; put on him the 
blackest of broadcloths, and the whitest neckcloth, and 
you cannot disguise the hard, coarse features which his 
thoughts and mind have chiselled on his face. 

It is asserted that married people who have lived long 
together, and have thought, and cared, and worked for 
the same object, come at last to look like each other, and 
even if the features are very unlike, the expression of 
both faces will be the same. 

461 



462 HUMAN NATURE. 

The Rev. Orville Dewey in one of his lectures on the 
Problem of Human Destiny, remarks: — u The expression 
of the face is a beautiful distinction of humanity. We 
are little aware of the influence which it constantly ex- 
erts. If the dumb animals, on whom man exerts his 
cruelty, if the horse or dog, when suffering by a blow 
from the violence of man, could turn upon him with a 
look of indignation or appeal, could any one resist the 
power of mute expostulation ? How extraordinary, too, 
the difference of expression in the human face, by which 
the recognition of personal identity is secured. On this 
small surface, nine inches by six, are depicted such vari- 
ous traits, that among the millions of inhabitants of the 
earth, no two have the same lineaments of the face. 
What dire confusion would ensue if all countenances 
were alike ; if fathers did not know their own children 
by sight, nor husband their wives! But now we could 
pick out our friends from among the multitudes of the 
universe." 

"Nature," says Thackary, "has written a letter of 
credit upon some men's faces, which is honored almost 
wherever presented." 

With regard to the study of the face, a story is told of 
the great French satirist, which finely illustrates his 
knowledge of human nature. He was traveling in Ger- 
many, in entire ignorance of its language and currency. 
Having obtained some small change for some of his 
French coins, he used to pay coachmen and others in the 
following manner — taking a handful of the numismatical 
specimens from his pocket, he counted them one by one, 
into the creditor's hands, keeping his eye fixed all the 
time on the receiver's face. As soon as he perceived the 
least twinkle of a smile, he took back the last coin de- 
posited in the hand, and returned it, with the remainder, 
to his pocket. He afterwards found that, in pursuing 
this method, he had not overpaid for anything. 

The mouth is a feature upon which very much of the 
character of the face depends. No woman can be a 
pretty woman who has an ugly mouth. To the most reg- 
ular features a gaping mouth, or ugly, drooping, badly 



HUMAN NATURE. 463 

formed lips, will give an air of listless ignorance, or half 
idiocy, which is repulsive. Firmness, general decision, 
cruelty, softness and gentleness of mind, love of our fel- 
lows, eloquence, spite, vindictiveness, generosity, and 
strength of character, are all indicated by the mouth. It 
is incumbent, therefore, with astute and cunning men — 
with those who are crafty and politic, and who plot 
against humanity — to conceal the workings of the mouth. 
As Cassar covered his baldness with a laurel crown, so a 
modern Cassar covers his lips with a thick drooping 
moustache; in this, too, nature has admirably aided him. 
Forrester, the Bow street runner, and Fouche, Napoleon's 
celebrated chef oi police, almost invariably detected the 
guilty by noticing the play of the lips. Forrester, in his 
curious "Memoirs,' 7 has frequently told us that he saw 
"guilt upon the lip" of more than one whom he sus- 
pected; and his sagacity, if not unerring, was great. But 
who can watch the play of the mouth when it is covered 
by a thick grove of moustache ! All the celebrated 
police agents, from Fouche to inspector Whieher, have 
been completely puzzled by such. It is well, therefore, 
on important occasions, to conceal the mouth. It is too 
sure an index of character. Thin, pale lips, are supposed 
to be indicative of ill-temper. They are more surely, 
perhaps, the consequence of a weekly and not too healthy 
habit of body. A very thin nether lip, clenched teeth, 
and a pale cheek, have been for ages the stock in trade 
of the fictionist when he wishes to draw a conspirator; 
and the painter has followed him. Judas, in many of the 
early Italian pictures, is seen biting his under lip. Rich- 
ard the Third, as portrayed by Holingshed, and by Shak- 
speare, had a similar habit. Men of nervous and excit- 
able temperament have, especially if suspicious, a habit 
of plucking at their lips and distorting their mouths. 
Small mouths are very much praised, and have been for 
a long time much in fashion. Fashionable painters and 
artists for the "Book of Beauty" have carried this small- 
ness of mouth to an absurdity. You will see engravings 
of ladies with mouths considerably smaller than their 
eyes, which, of course presuming the face to be in due 



464 HUMAN NATURE. 

proportion, is as much a monstrosity as if the mouth, like 
that of a giant in a pantomime, extended from ear to ear. 
The female mouth should not be too small. From what 
we can gather from contemporary portraits, supposing 
them to be true, both Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen 
of Scots, had mouths much too small to be handsome. 
That of the former, the greatest female monarch who has 
ever existed, should have at least indicated her capacious 
mind. That of Queen Charlotte was ugly; that of the 
princess of that name was a true Brunswick mouth, ex- 
hibiting the two front teeth, from the shortness and 
curious elevation of the upper lip, which is perpetuated 
in the males of the present royal family. The house of 
Hapsburg had also a very ugly mouth, celebrated as the 
Austrian mouth. 

Certain masters of ceremonies have written much on 
the expression of the mouth. "It is," says one, "the 
feature which is called into play the most frequently ; and, 
therefore even where beauty of form exists, careful train- 
ing is needed, to enable it to perform correctly its mani- 
fold duties. An elegant manner of utterance renders 
words, insignificant in themselves, agreeable and persua- 
sive. In the act of eating, skillful management is nec- 
essary. A laugh is a very severe test to this feature." 
Mr. Dickens, whose observation is very wide, has ridi- 
culed such teaching, when he makes one of his superfine 
old women instruct his pupils in the formation of the lips 
by uttering three magic words — potatoes, prunes, and 
prism. And we presume that when Lord Byron nearly 
fainted at the sight of his wife enjoying a rumpsteak, the 
skillful management of his Ada's mouth was neglected. 

Turning from such foppery to the poets, we may con- 
clude by saying that from the Greek Anthology, down- 
ward to the fluent young fellows who write songs for the 
music publishers, thousands of lines have been written 
in praise of ladies' mouths. The Latins and the Italians 
have paid great attention to this feature ; rosy lips, pearly 
and violet breath, have been for ages the stock in trade 
of the poets. But, perhaps, the best things said of them 
are by an Irish and an English poet. The Irishman, hy- 



HUMAN NATURE. 465 

perbolically, likens the mouth of his charmer to "a dish 
of strawberries smothered in crame;" and Sir John Suck- 
ling paints to the life the pretty pouting under lip of a 
beauty, in his "Ballad on a Wedding:" 

" Her lips were red, and one was thin, 
Compared to that was next her chin — 
Some bee had stung it newly." 

What I am about to record may surprise some people ; 
bat I have always noticed that in women who have an 
extremely small mouth, there is seldom observed that 
amiableness of disposition and character, which is so fre- 
quently found in those who have a handsome mouth of 
moderate size. It would seem that too small a mouth in- 
dicates a weakness which degenerates into affectation. 
The last mentioned quality seems to be so inseparably 
attached to smallness of the mouth, that even those 
females who have an ordinary mouth, when they are going 
to be affected, always begin by contracting that part. 

The language of the eye is very hard to counterfeit. 
You can read in the eyes of your companion, while you 
talk, whether your argument hits him, though his tongue 
wall not confess it. There is a look by which a man 
allows he is going to say a good thing, and a look when 
he has said it. Vain and forgotten are all the fine offices 
of hospitality if there be no holiday in the eye. How many 
furtive invitations are avowed by the eye, though dis- 
sembled by the lips. A man comes away from a com- 
pany; he heard no important remark, but if in sym- 
pathy with the society he is innocent of such a stream 
of life as has been flowing to him through the eye. 
There are eyes which give no more admission into them 
than blackberries. Others are liquid, and deep wells 
that men might fall into. And others are oppressive and 
devouring, and take too much notice. There are asking 
eyes, and asserting eyes, and prowling eyes, and eyes 
full of faith — some of good, and some of sinister omen. 

Says Oliver Wendell Holmes, look a man calmly 
through the very center of his pupils and ask him for 
anything with a tone implying entire conviction that he 

30 



466 HUMAN NATURE. 

will grant it, and he will very commonly consent to the 
thing asked, were it to commit Hari-Kari. 

It is said that all the Presidents of the United States, 
except General Harrison, had blue eyes. Among the 
great men of the world, the blue eyes appear to have 
been predominant. Socrates, Shakspeare, Locke, Bacon, 
Milton, Goethe, Franklin, Napoleon and Humboldt, all had 
blue eyes. The blue-eyed boys win all the prizes in 
shooting at the English volunteer trials. Black eyes are 
at a discount, therefore, since they fail early too. Dr. 
Leask wrote years ago, "Men with gray eyes are gener- 
ally keen, energetic and at first cold; but you may de- 
pend upon their sympathy with real sorrow. Search the 
ranks of our benevolent men, and you will agree with 
me." Dark blue eyes are most common in persons of 
delicate, refined, or effeminate nature ; light blue, and 
much more gray eyes, in the hardy and active. Greenish 
eyes have generally the same meaning as the gray. Hazel 
eyes are the more usual indications of a mind masculine, 
vigorous and profound. 

"Black eyes most dazzle in a hall ; 
Blue eyes most please at evening fall ; 
The black a conquest soonest gain, 
The blue a conquest most retain ; 
The black bespeak a lively heart, 
Whose soft emotions soon depart ; 
The blue asteadier flame betray, 
That burns and lives beyond a day ; 
The black may features best disclose; 
The blue may feelings all repose." 

"A gray eye 
Is still and sly ; 
A roguish, 
Is the brown ; 
The eye of blue 
Is ever true ; 
But, in the black eye's 
Sparkling spell, 
Mystery 
/ And mischief dwell ! " 

The eye is both the inlet and outlet of a great deal of 
wickedness — witness Joseph's mistress, Samson and Da- 
vid ; and we read of eyes full of adultery, that cannot 
cease from sin. We need, therefore, with holy Job, to 



HUMAN NATURE. 467 

make a covenant with our eyes; a bargain with them, 
that they should have the pleasure of beholding the 
light of the sun and the works of God, provided they 
would never fasten or dwell on anything that might occa- 
sion impure imaginations or desires. What have we the 
covering of the eyes for but to restrain corrupt glances, 
and to keep out defiling impressions ? And if looking 
be lust, they who dress, and deck, and expose themselves, 
with design to be looked at and lusted after, like Jezebel, 
who painted her face, tired her head and looked out of 
the window, are no less guilty. Men sin, but devils 
tempt to sin. A chaste eye exiles licentious looks. 

It is said that Napoleon selected his officers with ref- 
erence to their noses. Napoleon used to say: "Strange 
as it may appear, when I want any good hard work done, 
I choose a man, provided his education has been suitable, 
with a long nose. His breathing is bold and free, his 
brain, as well as his lungs and heart, cool and clear. In 
my observation of men, I have almost invariably found a 
long nose and a long head together." 

We extract the following from Temple Bar: "The 
more any one studies the nose, the more will he appre- 
ciate its importance. Noses mark the peculiarities of 
races, and the gradations of society. The noses of the 
Australians, the Esquimaux, and the Negroes — broad, flat, 
and weak, mark their mental and moral characteristics. 
The striking differences between the African Negro and 
the North American Indian are sculptured on their noses. 
In the mingled races and different classes of our own 
country we find the largest variety, and everywhere, if 
we but examine, the nose is the index of the class as well 
as of character. The noses of the aristocracy are not 
those of the democracy ; and how could one more appro- 
priately express his contempt for an inferior than by 
turning up his nose at him? Do you see the same kind 
of noses at the east end of the town as at the west? in 
the stalls and dress circle of the opera, and in the six- 
penny pit and three-penny gallery of the minor theatre ? 
at a prize fight and a fashionable evening party? In 
smaller towns where social grades are brought nearer 



4G8 HUMAN NATURE. 

together, and can be more readily examined, the contrast 
is very remarkable. Dublin, for instance, presents us 
with a perfect gamut of noses, from the most diminutive 
small potato pug to the symmetrical Grecian and haughty 
Roman. The pug in rags drives along in a picturesque 
donkey cart, the elegant Grecian, in its statuesque beauty, 
glides past on the side-walk; the Roman reclines in a 
carriage, whose panels exhibit the insignia of ancient 
rank and dominion. There are Irish faces of children 
and of savages, simply good or fearfully bad, and there 
are also those of the highest culture and refinement. 
Beauty, genius, valor, and nobility have their home 
there; but these find their opposites, in a strange prox- 
imity. If you look at the progress of the individual life, 
the contour of the nose marks all its stages. Who ever 
saw a baby with a Roman or aquiline nose or even a 
Grecian? The baby nose is a little snub, the nose of 
weakness and undevelopment. The child's nose keeps 
its inward curve; in youth it straightens; and then 
comes, in certain characters and races, the bold outward 
curve of the aquiline or the stronger prominence of the 
Roman. It may stop at any point in this march of pro- 
gress, and present a case of arrested development. And 
we all feel instinctively that a certain shaped nose is the 
proper index of a certain character." 

Josh Billings says, " There iz probably no feetur uv the 
human countenance, that hez been diskivered yet, that 
so much advertises the insides uv a man's karacter, ez 
the nose." 

One may judge of the spirits and disposition of a man 
by his gait and mien in walking. He who habitually 
pursues abstract thought, looks down on the ground. 
He who is accustomed to sudden impulses, or is trying 
to seize upon necessary recollection, looks up with a kind 
of jerk. He who is a steady, cautious, merely practical 
man, walks on deliberately, his eyes straight before him ; 
and even in his most musing moods, observes things 
around sufficiently to avoid a porter's knot or a butcher's 
tray. But the man with strong impulses — of pushing, 
lively temperament, who, though practical, is not specula- 



HUMAN NATURE. 4G9 

tive — the man who is emulous and active, and ever trying 
to rise in life — sanguine, alert, bold — walks with a spring, 
looks rather above the heads of his fellow passengers, but 
with a quick, easy turn of his own, which is lightly set 
on his shoulders; his mouth is a little open; his eye is 
bright, rather restless, but penetrative ; his port has some- 
thing of defiance; his form erect without stiffness. 

Observing persons move slow — their heads move alter- 
nately from side to side, while they occasionally stop and 
turn round. Careful persons lift their feet high, and 
place them down flat and firm. Sometimes they stoop 
down, pick up some little obstruction, and place it quietly 
by the side of the way. Calculating persons generally 
walk with their hands in their pockets, and their heads 
slightly inclined. Modest persons generally step softly 
for fear of being observed. Timid persons often step 
off from the side-walk on meeting another, and always 
go round a stone, instead of stepping over it. Wide 
awake persons u toe out,' 1 and have a long swing to their 
arms, while their hands shake about mischievously. 
Careless persons are forever stubbing their toes* Lazy 
persons scrape about loosely with their heels, and are 
first on one side of the walk and then on the other. 
Very strong-minded persons have their toes directly in 
front of them, and have a kind of stamp movement. 
Unstable persons walk fast and slow by turns. Venturous 
persons try all roads, frequently climb the fences instead 
of going through the gate, and never let down a bar. 
One-idea persons and very selfish ones "toe in." Cross 
persons are apt to hit their knees together. Good-natured 
persons snap their thumb and finger every few steps. 
Fun-loving persons have a kind of jig movement. Ab- 
sent minded persons often take the wrong road, and 
sometimes find themselves up to their knees in the mud- 
puddle, although the side-walks are excellent. Dignified 
men move slow and erect. Fast persons cut across the 
corner, kick every dog they meet, knock down the little 
children ; run against the ladies, and hit every twelfth man's 
ribs with their elbows. Very neat men occasionally stop 
to wipe the dust from their boots — their hands hang by 



470 HUMAN NATURE. 

their sides. Very polite persons are sometimes seen 
bowing in their course to black servants and sometimes 
to black stumps. 

There is culture not less in carriage than behavior. 
The seneschal in old castles could rank all the guests 
without error, by their conduct. 

The hands are, by the very instincts of humanity, 
raised in prayer ; clasped in affection ; wrung in despair ; 
pressed on the forehead when the soul is "perplexed in 
the extreme;" drawn inward to invite ; thrust objectively 
to repel; the fingers point to indicate; and they are 
snapped in disdain ; the palm is laid upon the heart as an 
indication of subdued feeling; and on the brow of the 
compassioned in benediction. The expressive capacity 
of the hands was never more strikingly displayed than in 
the orisons of the deaf and dumb. Their teacher stood 
with closed eyes and addressed the Deity by those signs 
made by the fingers which constitute a language far from 
speechless. Around him were grouped more than a hun- 
dred mutes, who followed with reverent glances, every 
motion. It was a visible but not an audible worship. 

The ancients believed that the individual whose hair 
was straight and lank, was weak and cowardly. Frizzly 
hair was indicative of coarseness and clumsiness. The 
hair that specially won their admiration was that which, 
flowing down, terminated in ringlets. The Emperor Au- 
gustus was favored by nature with wonderfully fine and 
abundant hair. Auburn or light brown tresses were 
thought the most distinguished, and the possessor of hair 
of either tint was pre-supposed to be intelligent, indus- 
trious, and of a peaceful disposition. Black hair was not 
held in esteem by the Romans. Red hair was positively 
hideous in their eyes. Ages before the time of Judas it was 
an object of aversion. It was even held to be an omen of 
wickedness in its possessor. Fortunately, these old-time 
prejudices have quite worn away. Men no longer base 
their estimate of character upon the color of the hair. 

There is a true saying in the Vicar of Wakefield, to the 
effect that when men talk about "studying human na- 
ture," they almost invariably mean studying it on the 



HUM AX NATURE. 471 

bad side. One of the first things a young man proceeds 
to do when he "starts in life," or gets old enough to begin 
to think on his own responsibility, is to "study human 
nature.'' As a rule, the first few months complete his 
education in this direction, and he spends the remainder 
of his life in learning that he knows very little about hu- 
man nature after all. A young man flatters himself that 
he is "studying human nature" when he visits all kinds 
of vile places, dance houses, concert saloons, and the va- 
rious haunts of vice which a great city affords, as if 
human nature sunk, beneath masses of moral filth, and 
blackened by contact with wretchedness and crime, were 
especially worthy of the student's attention as represen- 
tative of the race; it is an insult to humanity. All honor 
to those, like Charles Dickens, who have been among the 
wretched and vicious, among the sons and daughters of 
darkness, for a direct purpose, and that purpose one of 
good to our race. They have fonnd pearls covered with 
filth, and diamonds among the rubbish and offal of hu- 
manity. But we have no sympathy with that morbid 
curiosity, that affectation of studying human nature, which 
continually leads so many of our young men into places 
where some snch excuse is necessary for the sake of de- 
cency and respectability. Is there not as much "human 
nature" to be studied in the decent walks of life where 
nature is nature, and not where she is forced out of her own 
chosen paths by suffering and desperation ? He who seeks 
for vice, and falsehood, and treachery, as exponents of hu- 
man nature, will find enough of each around him and above 
him ; he need not go below his own level. Business men 
often flatter themselves that they have accomplished the 
study of human nature when they can detect the face of 
the rogue or the hypocrite among their customers or ac- 
quaintances. This is a very low branch of the study. 
There are all the forms of purity and virtue, love, charity, 
gentleness, the thousand delicate emotions of the heart, 
and the exquisite shades of thought and feeling, hopes and 
aspirations — are none of these worth studying ? 

It is said a woman never confesses that she laces tight; 
that her shoes are too small for her; that she is as old as 



472 HUMAN NATURE. 

she looks ; that she paints ; that she is ever tired at a ball ; 
that she has been more than five minutes dressing; that 
she has kept you waiting; that she blushed when a cer- 
tain person's name was mentioned; that she ever says a 
thing she does not mean; that she can't keep a secret; 
that she is ever in the wrong ; that she don't argue ; that 
she is ugly ; that she has a bad memory ; that she in- 
tended to give offence ; that she has ever been in love ; 
that she ever u jews" a shopkeeper; that she is hard to 
please; that she is vain; that she has ever flirted; that 
she is too old to marry. 

The following anecdote told by Dr. Baird in a recent 
lecture, will bear repeating : Shortly after Bonaparte 
was made First Consul and had installed himself in the 
Palace of the Tuilleries, he held a grand reception and 
ball. But he experienced at an early day of his career 
no little difficultv in organizing his court and making 
matters go smoothly. When the supper was ready, the 
ladies were summoned first, the gentlemen being under 
the necessity of waiting until their " betters " were served. 
Two thousand ladies, showily, if not tastefully dressed, 
rushed forward to the doors of the great dining hall, one 
of the largest and most splendid dining rooms in Europe. 
The great folding doors were closed, and the officers of 
the palace found it impossible to get them open, for the 
ladies pressed against them, and were engaged in high 
dispute among themselves as to who of them had the 
entre or right to go first. One lady said the right was 
hers, for her husband was a great General; but she soon 
found that others maintained, on one ground or another, 
that their claims were greater. Meanwhile the officers 
could not get the doors open, and in consternation one 
of them hastened to the First Consul and asked him how 
they should settle the question of precedence. u 0" said 
Bonaparte, " nothing is easier; tell them that the eldest is 
to go first!" The officer reported to the ladies the First 
Consul's decision, and instantly they all fell back ! This 
gave the officers an opportunity to get the doors open, 
when to their astonishment none of the ladies were will- 
ing to go first. After standing in that ridiculous position 



HUMAN NATURE. 



473 



for a moment, tliey began to laugh heartily at their own 
folly, and all marched into the dining-hall without further 
delay. 

Human nature shows many strange inconsistencies. 
How often do we find the strong and great possessed of 
petty foibles that would seem ill in even the lowest and 
weakest; and how often do we find in the weak tem- 
porary gleams of greatness. A crooked tree will have a 
crooked shadow. Beware of a silent dog, and still water. 
Too much cheek shows deficiency of brain; for Nature 
does not give lavishly of both. A nod from a lord is a 
breakfast for a fool. When a fish is wounded, other 
fishes fall upon and devour him. There's some human 
nature in fishes. 

Human nature is so constituted that all see and judge 
better in the affairs of others than their own. Men can 
better philosophize on the human heart, but women can 
read it better. Do not judge of a person from first im- 
pressions ; it is not liberal ; often your warmest friends 
prove to be those you were prejudiced against. If you 
want to "prove" the best friend you have, ask him to 
lend you some money. If it is important for you to 
know whether a man will cheat you if he can, sound him 
as to his willingness to help you cheat somebody else. 
Trust him little who praises all ; him less who censures all ; 
and him least who is indifferent about all. Shakspeare 
makes Caesar say : 

" Let nie have men about me that are fat ; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights : 
Yond ' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : Such men are dangerous." 

When a man attains power he has all the virtues of an 
epitaph ; let him fall into misfortune, he has more vices 
than the prodigal son. To know a man, observe how he 
wins his object rather than how he loses it; for when 
we fail, our pride supports us, when we succeed, it 
betrays us. Every man has, so to speak, several strings 
by which he may be pulled. An English writer says you 
can tell when you are surrounded by a dozen Americans, 



474 THE POWER OF SULKINESS. 

by the following unerring test; three will always be 
found smoking cigars, and nine reading newspapers. 

"What's the Time?" — Did you ever after asking this 
question, notice the different style in which it would be 
answered, according as the person interrogated had a 
gold watch or a silver watch? It is a rare chance to 
learn a lesson in human nature. In the one case, your 
friend turns around till his back is nearly squared towards 
you, and drawing out his "pinchbeck" barely to the edge 
of the fob, steals a quick, furtive glance at the dial, then 
hurries back the article like lightning into its receptacle ; 
in the other he draws out his splendid, full-jewelled re- 
peater slowly and deliberately, with great pomposity and 
nourish, and extending it at arm's length between his 
two hands, gives you the desired information, and one of 
his blandest smiles in addition. 

A man's nature runs either to herbs or weeds; there- 
fore let him seasonably water the one and destroy the 
other. 



THE POWER OF SULKINESS. 

Great is the power of sulkiness. Fortunately for the 
world, it rarely exists in its highest and most concen- 
trated form, for if united to real intellectual or moral 
force, it would be a despotism so thorough as to be inju- 
rious to the welfare of humanity. But in a less and more 
ignoble form it is not uncommon, and the dead weight 
and the steady, choking pressure which mankind endure 
in consequence, go to make up an almost intolerable 
grievance. There are people who have the gift of being 
sulky for an indefinite length of time, and assert that 
they act thus on principle ; but it is almost invariably 
found that the principle harmonizes with the nature, for 
to tempers that are short and sweet, hot, inconsistent, or 
quickly placable, — and any of these are liable to be sud- 
denly vexed for an hour or two, — it is always a difficulty 
to sulk. It is a bit of acting, and not reality, even when 



THE POWER OF SULKINESS. 475 

carried out, and the assumption of it is felt to be a bur- 
den too heavy to be borne. 

The capacity for steady, solid, concentrated sulkiness 
is a mighty power to him who possesses it ; it implies 
many curious and varied accomplishments and gifts, 
among others that of the complete mastery of the five 
senses. It is for a man to be blind whenever it is desired 
that he should open his eyes, dumb whenever words 
would be acceptable, deaf to all allurements or submis- 
sion, insensible to all efforts at conciliation. It can create 
gloom, and, having created it, it can perpetuate and 
deepen it, until it becomes a clinging atmosphere as un- 
wholesome as a malaria. It comprehends an absolute 
control over the facial muscles, so that no softness or sign 
of yielding, not a ripple of a smile, or an expression of 
pleasure, may replace even for a moment the sullen 
apathy or illumine the habitual scowl of the confirmed 
sulker. In a word, it is the faculty of simulation to such 
a degree that a person shall appear to be blind, deaf, 
dumb, stupid, paralyzed, ill, or dead, whenever and for 
as long as he chooses. Mr. Helps has truly said, u Un- 
reason always governs. Nothing prevents your having 
your own way so much as being at all amenable to rea- 
son." And sulkiness neither gives reasons nor listens to 
them. The sulky being sometimes wears a depressed, 
spiritless, and utterly dejected appearance, as though 
crushed and heart-broken by long-continued oppression; 
sometimes a heavy, displeased, dragging step, and a black 
and lowering brow are the chief signs which indicate 
the disturbance within, and the form of the vengeance 
which is to be taken in respect of it. The latter is the 
musculine type ; the former is, properly speaking, femin- 
ine. Mr. N. P. Willis, in one of his earlier volumes, has 
a clever little tale, describing the power of an "injured 
look." By virtue of it a young American lady contrived 
to persuade a whole house full of boarders to regard her 
as a martyr, and to speak the worst and think the worst 
they could of her husband ; and all this, without uttering 
one word herself, was produced solely by the "injured 
look." And if there is an "injured look" there is also 



476 THE POWER OF SULKINES8. 

such a thing as a "dumb devil;" if the power of one is 
great, the provocation induced by the latter is unutter- 
able. It is a curious, and to some it will appear an unac- 
countable circumstance, that in sulkiness a woman is 
more often possessed with a dumb devil than a man. 

Sulkiness is visible even in the nursery, where it exists, 
so to speak, in the form of a bud ; but it is merely an 
outbreak of bad temper, for at that age a child has not 
learned the method of using it as an instrument with 
which to punish his playmates. And the wisest w^ay is to 
leave it entirely unnoticed, "efface" the offender, as the 
French say, until there is an obvious return to a more 
amiable disposition. But boys and girls soon learn to 
estimate the power of sulkiness either by practice or en- 
durance, and a large school is the best check on a despot- 
ism of this kind. Sulkiness is not a tyranny which can 
be safely exercised in society at large, and it is commonly 
reserved for private or home exhibition. The smaller the 
circle the more concentrated its force; in a family, in a 
house, in one room, the power of sulkiness oppresses, 
searches, and pervades every corner of it. In love- 
making sulkiness is a deplorable blunder. Smile or strike, 
or smile and strike, too, if that seems more advisable; 
but no good ever follows a sullen enmity, which chills, 
disconcerts, and often actually destroys love. Even that 
simulated sulkiness, that toothless vengeance, which con- 
sists in pouting coldness, is an experiment full of danger, 
and in the worst possible taste. But if between lovers 
it is a blunder, in married life it is simply the greatest 
madness of which a human being can be guilty. There 
they are men and women yoked together like goats, and 
as the countryman justly observed, " that's been a trouble 
to more than goats," and if either of them is endowed 
with the faculty of persistent sulkiness, one shudders to 
think of the life the other one may be made to lead. It 
might be reasonably urged as a cause for judicious separ- 
ation, possibly even for divorce, since the practice of 
quietly pressing the spirit and life out of a human being, 
no matter how many years the operation spreads over, is 
not one that ought to be permitted in a Christian country ; 



THE POWER OF SULKINESS. 477 

" vaevictis!" the weak go to the wall, and too often the 
weak are the pleasantest and most lovable of earth's 
creatures. 

Sometimes a person is seen to exhibit something wmich 
resembles and yet is not sulks. It is a silent moodiness 
of manner arising from a sense of failure, mortification, 
or secret discouragement and vexation which he cannot 
get over all at once. It is often seen in youth, but in 
reality the man is struggling with his infirmity, and a 
kind word, or a friendly overture will always float him 
over the difficulty. But genuine sulkiness is essentially 
premeditated and of a forethought ; it is also vindictive, 
sometimes even malignant, in its nature, and if much in- 
dulged in causes the manners to become habitually 
morose, and the face and person acquire a heavy, sod- 
den appearance as of a substance too long steeped in 
unwholesome juices. Dragging the feet along the floor, 
and slamming the doors of the house for weeks and 
months together are vulgar and ignoble, but neither un- 
common nor inexpressive modes of sulking. We all 
know of other ways more refined, but not less disagree- 
able, and remember them too well. The fashion in which 
the very few w^ords which custom and convenience render 
absolutely necessary are dropped from the lips as if they 
were so many leaden bullets; the steadfast surprised 
stare, that you or any one else should venture to ask such 
questions as shall require reply of any kind, the pertina- 
cious coldness, the carefully averted glance, the steady 
gloom, the hand withheld, the smile unreturned, and the 
hardly muttered acknowledgment of the morniug or 
evening salutation, — who that has witnessed or endured 
these amenities can forget the effect of them? In fact, 
the severity of the pressure which a really able, discrimin- 
ating, and obstinate sulker can bring to bear on others 
for an indefinite space of time amounts to a tyranny, 
dumb, indeed, but sufficiently unholy of its kind ; neither 
soft coaxing nor urgent cursing affect it, and though to 
yield is humiliating, it is well-nigh hopeless to resist it. 



HINTS ON TALKING. 

He is a better man who wisely speaks, than he who 
talks at random. It is a great master-piece to speak well, 
without affecting knowledge. A gentleman should talk 
like a gentleman, which is like a wise man. 

Talking is an art, susceptible of improvement and elab- 
oration, like any other art, and capable of being seriously 
impaired by neglect, like any vocation which, after being 
learned, may be forgotten. It is a mistake to imagine 
that all good talkers are born with the endowment; some, 
indeed, possess it as a native talent, but many others ac- 
quire it by long, careful, and painful effort. As a general 
thing, persons with wide mouths and thin tongues are 
able to express their ideas with ease, and to converse and 
speak with envied fluency, while those with narrow 
mouths and thick tongues stammer through a conversa- 
tion with labor to themselves, and little satisfaction to 
those who listen to them. Bat even this latter class may 
by attention and effort overcome the infirmities of their 
organs of speech, and learn to express themselves easily 
and gracefully. The faculty of fluent and graceful ex- 
pression is a most charming and enviable one, and where 
it does not exist as a natural gift, is worth the years of 
attention and labor that the acquisition costs. It requires, 
in the first place, deliberation — and this is why so few cul- 
tivate it in the midst of the hurry and haste of business 
pursuits. The words should be selected with care and 
with taste, and pronounced with distinctness and pre- 
cision of utterance. At first this will produce an appear- 
ance of affectation and stiffness ; but after a little practice 
it will become "an easy and facile habit; the very effort 
to select choice and apt words will cause them to flow 
spontaneously to the tongue, and the clear, distinct pro- 
nunciation of them will become an easy task, for the or- 
gans of speech will adjust themselves to the work, and 
perform it without constraint. Every one who has tried 
to announce the best that is in him — the deepest thoughts, 

478 



HINTS ON TALKING. 479 

the highest aspirations, the warmest affections — has been 
conscious that his words fell short at least of his meaning, 
if not, indeed, greatly misrepresenting it. This is not 
owing to the poverty of the language, as some may 
think. Words and ideas grow side by side, and there 
are always means of adequate expression at hand, if we 
can find and arrange them. But to do this requires a 
previous training, that the schools alone can not give, 
and that only personal attention and constant habit can 
produce. The thoughts and ideas that rise in our mind 
must not be permitted to tumble together like an unorgan- 
ized mob; they must be disciplined, systematized, and 
placed under control, so that we can express each at its 
proper time, and leave unexpressed those which we would 
conceal. Our ideas being thus disciplined, will reflect their 
own good order upon our words, and we shall find that 
to think and speak accurately are parts of the same task. 
Strange and high sounding words should be avoided, for 
good speech does not consist in belching the dictionary 
upon your hearers' heads, and stunning them with an 
awful sense of your profound wisdom. In conversation, 
simple plain words, clearly and pointedly spoken, are the 
most effective ; for knowledge really consists in ideas and 
thoughts, instead of words, and thoughts and ideas may 
be expressed in simple language as well as in intricate 
terms. 

Words are the pledges and pictures of our thoughts, 
and therefore ought not to be obscure and obsolete. 
Truth (as Euripides says,) loves plain language. We ad- 
vise all young people to acquire in early life the habit of 
using good language, both in speaking and writing, and 
to abandon as early as possible any use of slang words 
and phrases. The longer they live the more difficult the 
acquisition of such language will be ; and if the golden 
age of youth, the proper season for the acquisition of 
language be past in its abuse, the unfortunate victim of 
neglected education is very probably doomed to talk 
slang for life. Money is not necessary to procure this 
education. Every man has it in his power. He has 
merely to use the language which he reads instead of the 



480 HINTS ON TALKING. 

slang which he hears; to form his taste from the best 
speakers, and poets of the country ; to treasure up choice 
phrases in his memory, and habituate himself to their use 
— avoiding at the same time that pedantic precision and 
bombast, which show rather the weakness of a vain am- 
bition than the polish of an educated mind. To the 
young I would say, never use unbecoming words or in- 
delicate language. It shows a perverted mind, and does 
not speak well of the company you keep. Indelicate 
words offend the eat* of modesty, and make your pres- 
ence an offense to all good people. A vain and vulgar 
young man is loathed and abhorred by all, although for 
the sake of his friends, he may be sometimes tolerated 
by decent and respectable society. Avoid then all ex- 
pressions, all faint allusions to what is unbecoming and 
improper ; unless you do this, you never will be respected. 
Never make an expression that you would not be willing 
all your friends should hear. 

" Indecent words allow of no defence, 
For want of decency is a want of sense." 

Good talkers are about as rare as the black swan of the 
Roman proverb. Great talkers are abundant. But a 
good talker is a different thing. In the first place gram- 
mar must be unexceptionable — though too much nicety 
of phrase is worse than occasional carelessness. Secondly, 
he talks on proper subjects, at suitable times and places. 
Thirdly, he talks in a low tone, and only raises his voice 
with the spirit of his topic. Wit is not important to a 
good talker, though a spice of humor is, and good sense 
is indispensable. Adaptation to persons and occasions is 
a great point, and the want of it a glaring defect in many 
otherwise good talkers. They discuss very eloquently 
of books to ignoramuses, of balls to devotees, of philos- 
ophy to women, and of science to sailors. They talk pol- 
itics at the opera, describe a funeral at a pic-nic, and 
crack jokes on hemp before people who have lost rela- 
tions by hanging. To editors they offer improvements 
in the art of conducting a newspaper — to ministers (un- 
suspectingly) diatribes on the immorality of the clergy, 



HINTS ON TALKING. 481 

and to lawyers (but that is not always amiss) excellent 
homilies on the knavery of the bar. To think well needs 
more than a ready wit and a nimble tongue. 

Talking in the rough comes by nature ; talking well is 
an art. It requires a certain self-confidence, much frank- 
ness, patience and quickness of sympathy ; and the more 
humor it can get the better. Practice enters so largely 
into this process of cultivation, that it is said but few 
young girls can talk well except to their lovers. 

When you are in company talk often, but never long. 
In that case, if you do not please, you are sure not to 
tire your hearers. There are many persons, who, though 
they have nothing to talk of, never know when to leave 
off talking. There are some who labor under so great 
and insatiable a desire for talking, that they will even in- 
terrupt others when about to speak. We should in 
society never talk of our own or others' domestic affairs. 
Your's are of no interest to them, and their's should not 
be to you. Besides, the subject is of so delicate a nature, 
that with the best intentions it is a chance if we do not 
make some mortifying mistake, or wound the feelings of 
some one of the company. 

The best rules to form a young man are, to talk little, 
to hear much, to reflect alone upon what has passed in 
company, to distrust one's own opinions and value others 
that deserve it. 

One should be silent, or give utterance to such thoughts 
as are better than silence. Throw a stone at hazard 
rather than an idle and useless word ; and never say little 
in many words, but in few words say much. Better say 
nothing, than not to the purpose; and to speak perti- 
nently, consider both what is fit and when it is fit to 
speak. Some people write and others talk themselves 
out of reputation. Talking is like playing on the harp ; 
there is as much in laying the hand on the strings to stop 
their vibrations as in twanging them to bring out the 
music. 

"There are," says Roger L'Estrange, "braying men in 
the world as well as braying asses ; for what's loud and sense- 
less talking and swearing other than braying? " The less 

31 



482 HINTS ON TALKING. 

a man knows the wider he wears his mouth open. It is 
as impossible for a fool to keep his mouth shut, as it is 
for a sick oyster to keep his shell closed. It is with nar- 
row-souled people as with narrow-necked bottles; the 
less they have in them the more noise they make in 
pouring out. Men are like wagons; they rattle most 
when there's nothing in them. Talkers are no good doers. 
Many talk like philosophers and live like fools. Words 
are but poor fig-leaves to cover the nakedness of deeds. 

It is presumable that those who talk the most tell the 
most untruths. But perhaps we are ungallant in saying it. 

Evil and idle words may seem, as they are uttered, 
light and trivial things; yet if light, they are like the 
filaments of the thistle-down, each feathery tuft, floating 
on the slightest breeze, bears with it the germ of a nox- 
ious weed. A desire to say things which no one ever 
said, makes some people say things which nobody ought 
to say. Over-earnest asseveration give men a suspicion 
that the speaker is conscious of his falsities. It is not a 
good plan, after you have driven a nail in a sure place, 
instead of just clinching' and leaving it, to keep hammer- 
ing away till you break the head off or split the board. 
Superlative commendations, besides bringing in question 
the sincerity of the speaker, often give offence to the 
hearer, and do no credit to the person commended. It 
is frequent with many, upon every trivial matter, to pawn 
their reputation: which is a most trivial thing; for what 
is so often lent, and passeth so many hands upon every 
occasion, cannot but lose much of its value. Care for 
what you say, or what you say will make you care. There 
is only the difference of a single letter between "words" 
and "swords." 

He whose honest freedom makes it his virtue to speak 
what he thinks, makes it his necessity to think what is 
good. People who like so much to talk their mind, 
should sometimes try to mind their talk. Nothing is 
more silly than the pleasure some people take in "speak- 
ing their minds." A man of this make will say a rude 
thing for the mere pleasure of saying it, when an oppo- 
site behavior, full as innocent, might have preserved his 



HINTS ON TALKING. 483 

friend or made his fortune. To speak ill of a man in his 
absence, shows a base mind ; and to do so to his face, is 
adding an affront to the scandal. A man has no more 
right to say an uncivil thing than to act one; no more 
right to say a rude thing to another, than to knock an- 
other down. Never touch the sore place in any one's 
character, for be assured, whoever you are, you have 
a sore place in you. It is ungenerous to give a man 
occasion to blush at his own ignorance in any one thing, 
who perhaps may excel us in many. " Those who admonish 
their friends," says Plutarch, " should observe this rule, not 
to leave them with sharp expressions." Ill language de- 
stroys the force of reprehension, which should be always 
given with prudence and circumspection. Instructions 
are entertained with better effect, when they are not too 
personally addressed. We may with civility glance at, 
but cannot, without rudeness, stare upon the faults and 
imperfections of any man. 

Never does a man portray his own character more viv- 
idly than in his manner of portraying another's. There 
is something unsound about the man whom vou have 
never heard say a good word about any mortal, but who 
says bad words about a good many mortals, Never 
speak bad of others, even with a cause ; remember we all 
have our faults, and if we expect charity from the world, 
we must be charitable ourselves. Think that a word once 
spoken can never be recalled; therefore it is often pru- 
dent to think twice before we speak. Let No be ever 
the firm answer of Manhood and Womanhood to the over- 
tures ot Fraud and Wrong ; but let Yes always drop ten- 
derly from the lips of the prosperous and the happy, 
when the poor, the miserable, and the oppressed petition 
for help and succor. "In table talk," says Montaigne, "I 
prefer the pleasant and witty before the learned and the 
grave." 

Bacon tells us that, to use too many circumstances ere 
one conies to the matter is wearisome ; to use none is 
blunt. It is neither grateful or discreet to dwell too 
long upon a subject, the brain being like a field; though 
ever so rich, if you over harrow it, you may be sure to 



484 HINTS ON TALKING. 

turn up barren ground at last. A good tale badly told, 
is a bad one. Avoid telling idle tales, which is like firing 
arrows in the dark; you know not into whose heart they 
may fall. He that is peremptory in his own story, may 
meet with another that is peremptory in the contradic- 
tion of it; and then the two sir positives must have a 
skirmish. Too much asseveration gives a ground of 
suspicion. Truth and honesty have no need of loud 
protestations. The strongest words are generally the 
oftenest broken. You need not tell all the truth, unless 
to those who have a right to know it all. But let all you 
tell be the truth. If you find a person telling an abso- 
lute falsehood, let it pass over in silence — it is not worth 
your while to make any one your enemy, by proving 
him a liar. 

There is no man, says a learned author, but that de- 
lights to be questioned in his profession; who being 
moved by others, may see to publish his knowledge with- 
out ostentation. Young folks tell what they do; old 
ones what they have done ; and fools what they will do. 
Some people are always boasting of their services, but 
the spoke of the wheel that creaks, does not bear the 
greatest burden. To talk intentionally above the com- 
prehension of those we address, is pedantry. We oftener 
say things because we say them well, than because they 
are sound and reasonable. To talk well is a gift, just as 
much as a taste for music is. But fine talkers are seldom 
good thinkers. They like to float on the surface — not to 
dive into the depths of the sea of existence. The great 
game is not to talk with those who know less than our- 
selves, but rather tilt with those who are wiser than 
ourselves. We shall then be overthrown and learn true 
wisdom thereby. 

A good word for another is easily said, and costs us 
nothing. If there is any person to whom you feel dis- 
like, that is the person of whom you ought never to 
speak. Never tell a friend what you would conceal from 
an enemy ; for the friend may become your bitterest foe. 

The more any one speaks of himself, the less he likes 
to hear another talked of. How many people would re- 



HINTS ON TALKING. 485 

main dumb were it forbidden them to speak good of 
themselves and ill of others. First, talk of yourself with- 
out being vain; second, talk of others without slander. 
Be deaf to the quarrelsome, blind to the scorner, and 
dumb to those who are mischievously inquisitive. Shut 
your ears when evil things are said. Those who boast of 
plain speaking generally like it only in themselves. 
Would you hear a sweet and pleasing echo, speak sweetly 
and pleasantly yourself. It is with narrow-souled people 
as with narrow-necked bottles; the less they have in 
them the more noise they make in pouring it out. The 
Talker must be, of necessity, the smallest of human souls. 
His soul must dwindle, dwindle, dwindle, for he utters 
great feelings in words, instead of acts, and so satiates 
his need of utterance, the need of all. Talkativeness is 
usually called a feminine vice, but it is possible to go into 
masculine company, where it will be as hard to wedge 
in a word as at a female gossiping. What is said from 
the feeling of the moment, should excite but the feeling 
of the moment. Say what is right, and let others say 
what they please. "Hew to the line, let the chips fall 
where they will." When a man has no design but to 
speak plain truth, he may say a great deal in a very nar- 
row compass. An honest tale speeds best being plainly 
told. 

What an evil disposition is that which leads people to 
say "hateful" things for the mere pleasure of saying 
them ! You are never safe with such a person. When 
you have done your best to please, and are feeling very 
kindly and pleasantly, out will pop some underhand stab 
which you alone can comprehend — a sneer which is 
masked, but which is too well aimed to be misunderstood. 
It may be at your person, your mental feeling, your fool- 
ish habits of thought, or some little secret opinions con- 
fided in a moment of genuine confidence. It matters 
not how sacred it may be to ycu, he will have his fling at 
it ; and since the wish is to make you suffer, he is all the hap- 
pier the nearer he touches your heart. Just half a dozen 
words, only for the pleasure of seeing a cheek flush, and 
an eye lose its brightness, only spoken because he is 



48 HINTS ON TALKING. 

afraid you are too happy or too conceited. Yet they are 
worse than so many blows. How many sleepless nights 
have such mean attacks caused tender-hearted men ! How 
after thehi one awakes with aching eyes and head, to re- 
member that speech before everything — that bright, 
sharp, well-aimed needle of a speech that probed the very 
center of your soul ! 

How fond we are of making other people uncomfort- 
able! It's very natural, but very wrong, after all. 
People are wretched enough on their own account, as a 
general thing, and we might bottle up our woes if we 
had the proper feeling. But we don't. We tell them, 
" How sick we feel ! " "What a cold we have!" "How 
our heads ache!" "How we didn't sleep a wink last 
night!" "How cold we are!" "How hot we are!" etc. 
We never cry out, "I am so well!" "I haven't a sign 
of a cold!" "I'm so delightfully comfortable!" at least 
very seldom, in comparison with the reverse of the 
question ; and the only comfort is that people very 
rarely care enough about their neighbors to suffer from 
sympathy. They are only dreadfully bored by it, that 
is all; just as they are when we tell them that our 
Aunt Tompkins has been "miserable all summer," and 
that our cousin Jones has lost his youngest by scarlet- 
fever, and that there's a dreadful war in France, and a 
terrible flood in Virginia, and ever so many people starved 
to death in Asia. Sit quiet and listen, if you can, the 
very next time you find a select circle of friends collected 
together for convivial purposes, and you will discover 
that the conversation turns principally on these subjects : 
their own woes and illnesses ; those of their relatives and 
of their friends ; the fault of the weather ; the failings ot 
government; the calamities of a nation, and other 
uncomfortable topics too numerous to mention, over 
which, nevertheless, they are decidedly cheerful, consid- 
ering, and which do not diminish the consumption of re- 
freshments to any perceptible degree. 

When will American women learn to believe — and 
what is more, practice upon that belief — that a "low, 
soft voice is an excellent thing in woman?" Wherever 



CONVERSATION. 487 

we go — in the horse-cars, on the steamboats, in the lec- 
ture rooms and concert halls, on the street, in every pub- 
lic place, in short, we are perpetually and involuntarily 
receiving confidences from unknown females, in regard 
to family matters, love affairs, matrimonial spats and 
other subjects, important or the reverse. We cannot 
help it. We don't want to know that A abuses his wife, 
and B's better half flirts outrageously ; we don't care why 
a certain match said to be on the tapis was broken off; 
we are not deeply interested in the particulars of C's last 
illness, inasmuch as to us he is a total stranger, nor do 
we mind about knowing how much his coffin cost or 
whether it was real rosewood or a base imitation ; that 
D's son is rather fast and E's daughter bids fair to turn 
out a "girl of the period." All these, and plenty mere 
facts of the kind, are of no special moment to us, and we 
are not interested in hearing them discussed, yet we can- 
not see how we are to avoid becoming depositories of all 
sorts of secrets, pleasant or otherwise. Just as long as we 
are forced to travel to and fro on the earth, the Ameri- 
can women will talk of private matters at the top of 
their voices in public. 

From hearing comes wisdom ; from speaking, repent- 
ance. 



CONVERSATION. 

There is one defect in American education, or rather 
in American character, and that is, our young people do 
not learn to converse well. They think — they act — when 
roused they are eloquent — but they seldom converse well. 
The boy is taught to declaim — to store his mind with 
those ideas that will instruct and even move the multitude 
— but very rarely to converse with ease and elegance. 
The girl is disciplined to sing, and play, and dance, and sit 
gracefully. She is even prepared for those w T omanly 
duties she must perform in after life — duties of the nur- 
sery and the household. Her moral powers are culti- 
vated likewise in this country, so that she becomes a use- 



488 CONVERSATION. 

ful, benevolent, amiable being. But she is not taught to 
converse. 

"She can talk enough," says the crusty old bachelor, 
"pray do not teach her, to any greater degree, the use 
of her tongue." Talking is not conversing. There is no 
deficiency in the former with our girls. To talk, and to 
talk well, are very different. The latter requires ease, 
tact, self-confidence, good sense, a well conducted educa- 
tion, a desire to please, and an amiable temper. 

In neither sex should conversation be high flown, de- 
clamatory, or above the condition of the hearers. The 
voice should be modulated to the subject, and never 
raised to an oratorical pitch. The style should be easy, 
natural, playful if the occasion require it, with no strained 
and far-fetched attempts at wit or glitter. 

There are occasions when the very essence of enter- 
taining and successful conversation consists in being a 
good listener, and in drawing out others upon those topics 
about which you know they can furnish information. We 
have said before that the great secret of pleasing consists 
in making others pleased with themselves. It is so in 
conversation. To be a good listener, is one of the se- 
crets of a conversational power. It is said that Daniel 
Webster remarked that he never was in any sensible man's 
company a quarter of an hour, but he learnt something. 
He had the tact of drawing them out on subjects with 
which they were familiar, and in this way, gained infor- 
mation himself, and made others pleased with him. 

When girls think too much of their beauty, they are 
very apt to forget that the powers of conversation are 
needed to please. Beauty may strike a severe blow on 
the heart, but it requires conversational powers to follow 
up the blow and render it effective. A plain woman 
who converses well will soon cause the want of beauty 
to be forgotten by her powers of entertainment. Madam 
De Stael Holstein was an exceedingly plain woman, but 
such were her conversational talents, that Byron declared 
she could talk down her face in a quarter of an hour, and 
be felt to be positively beautiful. 

But the question occurs, how can this power be ac- 



CONVERSATION. 489 

quired? It needs some native confidence and much good 
judgment to lay the foundation for it. Instructors can 
create it, by always requiring their pupils to give the 
ideas of their lessons in their own language, and not in 
the words of the text book. Parents, too, can early 
begin to encourage their children to converse on sensible 
topics, by calling out their opinions. All should learn 
to converse. 

Were children accustomed from infancy to hear noth- 
ing but correct conversation, there would be but little 
need of their learning arbitrary rules of grammar — they 
would naturally speak and write correctly. Hence it is, 
that children of educated parents are generally so much 
more easy and graceful in their conversation, than the chil- 
dren of the uneducated. Our language, like our manners, 
is caught from those with whom we associate ; and if we 
would have the young improve in this important part of 
education, we must be careful that they hear no vulgar- 
isms from us. Parents and teachers cannot be too par- 
ticular in their use of language in the presence of imita- 
tive children. 

The art of imparting our ideas easily and elegantly to 
others may be improved by ourselves, if there are op- 
portunities of mingling in good society, with a little 
study. The mind must first be cultivated; but it should 
not abash those who are conscious of moderate talents, or 
imperfect cultivation, from taking a due part in conver- 
sation, on account of their inferiority. It is a very dif- 
ferent thing to shine and to please; to shine in society is 
more frequently attempted than surpassed; to please is 
in the power of all. The effort to shine, when fruitless, 
brings a certain disgrace, and engenders mortification ; all 
good people are inclined to take the will for the deed 
when they see a desire to please. A gentle, deferential, 
kind manner, will disarm even the most discerning from 
criticising too severely the deficiencies of the inexpe- 
rienced; confidence, disrespect of others, volubility, 
eagerness to dispute, must irritate the self-love of others, 
and produce an averseness to acknowledge talent or in- 
formation when they may even happen to exist. 



490 CONVERSATION. 

Voice and manner have much to do with the qualifica- 
tions of a pleasant speaker. It was this that lent the 
irresistible charm, which all his listeners acknowledged, 
to the conversation of Chateaubriand. It is really not 
so much what is said, as how it is said, that makes the 
difference between the talkers of society. In public dis- 
cussions, in parliament or elsewhere, though the grace of 
voice and manner are valuable adjuncts to the speaker, 
especially in the opening of his career, he soon commands 
the attention of the audience, in spite of personal defects 
in these particulars, when it is once found that he can 
speak to the purpose. But all the good sense and ability 
in the world will not make up, in society, for a hesitating 
and embarrassed manner, or even for a very disagreeable 
voice. We may be conscious that the man has plenty to 
say, but we receive no pleasure from his talk. 

The art of conversation is a rare gift, and to be culti- 
vated as one would cultivate any desirable art. With 
some it is a spontaneous faculty ; with all, it can be ac- 
quired in a greater or less degree of perfection. An old 
book upon etiquette, among an immense deal of twaddle, 
contains some grains of sound sense, which would profit 
all to heed. On the subject of conversation, we are told 
to "interrogate without display, not to interrupt a profit- 
able speaker, nor desire ambitiously to put in a word of 
one's own, to be measured in speaking and hearing, not 
to be ashamed of receiving, or to be grudging of infor- 
mation, nor to pass another's knowledge for one's own." 
And again, that the "middle tone of voice, neither so 
low as to be inaudible, nor ill-bred from its high pitch," 
is the most desirable. And, also, that "one should reflect 
first what he is going to say, and then give it utterance ; 
be courteous when addressed, amiable in social inter- 
course, not aiming to be pleasant by facetiousness, but 
cultivating gentleness in kind admonitions. Harshness 
is ever to be put aside, even in censuring." 

Nothing is better than conversation as a corrective of 
self-sufficiency. In educated conversation a man soon 
finds his level. He learns more truly than from books, 
in converse with living men, to estimate his powers mod- 



CONVERSATION. 491 

estly and justly. A book is passive; it does not repel 
pretensions ; it does not rebuke vanity. Indeed, reading 
and study become to many but the nature of conceit. 
If some persons value themselves on the books they own, 
it is not surprising that others should value them- 
selves on the books they read. As knowledge grows on 
the thoughts in books, so pedantry feeds on their words, 
and is proud, lean and solitary. In conversation, a man 
is not long in discovering that he alone does not know 
everything, and that, though he were to die, wisdom 
would not perish with him. 

A talent for conversation has an extraordinary value 
for common, every-day uses of life. Let any one who 
has this gift enter into a social circle anywhere. How 
every one's face brightens at his entrance. How soon he 
sets all the little wheels in motion, encouraging the timid, 
calling out unostentatiously the resources of the reserved 
and shy, subsidizing the facile, and making everybody 
glad and happy. 

To converse well is not to engross the conversation. 
It is not to do all the talking. It is not necessarily to 
talk with great brilliancy. A man may talk with such 
surpassing power and splendor as to awe the rest of the 
company into silence, or excite their envy, and so pro- 
duce a chill where his aim should be to produce warmth 
and sunshine. He should seek the art of making others 
feel quite at home with him, so that no matter how great 
may be his attainments or reputation, or how small may 
be their's, they find it insensibly just as natural and pleas- 
ant talking to him, as hearing him talk. The talent for 
conversation, indeed, more, almost, than anything else in 
life, requires tact and discretion. It requires one to 
have more varied knowledge, and to have it at instant 
and absolute disposal, so that he can use just as much, or 
just as little as the occasion demands. It requires the 
ability to pass instantly and with ease from the playful 
to the serious, from books to men, from the mere phrases 
of courtesy to the expressions of sentiment and passion. 

If, says a writer in the Corn Hill Magazine, our talk is 
to prosper, the subject of it must be led up to gradually. 



492 CONVERSATION. 

It must be led up to gradually, and what is more, naturally ; 
the conversation reaching it by easy stages, and, as one 
may say, in the course of nature. And this leading up must, 
you are entreated to remember, be the work of destiny, and 
by no means brought about by you who wish to profit by it. 
Next in magnitude to the fault of dragging in your sub- 
ject neck and heels, is the error of leading up to it yourself 
in a forced and unnatural manner. You must wait for your 
opportunity. Self-control and patience are as necessary 
to the attainment of conversational, as any other distinc- 
tion. You must be patient then, but you must also be 
vigilant; a combination of qualities rare but indispen- 
sable to those who would be great in anything. You 
must be ready when that opportunity which has been 
spoken of does come, to seize it and hold it fast. You 
must hold your remark, your description, your story, or 
whatever it is, in check, as a skillful gillie does a deer- 
hound, but you must be ready to let it slip when the 
right moment comes. If that moment is missed, your 
chance is gone. Not the proverbial mutton, not Queen 
Anne herself, are more utterly dead than is a subject 
which has once been disposed of and dropped. You can- 
not revive it ; to assert that such resuscitation is possible 
would be to mislead many unoffending and, perhaps, de- 
serving persons. If a good thing comes into your head 
after the opportunity for letting it loose upon society 
has gone by, the best thing you can do is to gulp it down 
altogether or keep it by you, in case a use for it should 
come in the course of time. Conversation is a very seri- 
ous matter. There are men with whom an hour's talk 
would weaken one more than a day's fasting. 

Conversation should be studied as an art. Style in 
conversation is as important, and as capable of cultiva- 
tion, as style in writing. The manner of saying things 
is what gives them their value. Avoid provincialisms in 
your language and pronunciation. 

The 'art of conversation consists in the exercise of two 
fine qualities. You must originate, and you must sympa- 
thize — you must possess at the same time the habit of 
communicating and listening. The union is rare, but irre- 



CONVERSATION. 493 

sistible. Conversation is the daughter of reasoning, the 
mother of knowledge, the breath of the soul, the com- 
merce of hearts, the bond of friendship, the nourishment 
of content, and the occupation of men of wit. Intelli- 
gent conversation is the great charm, of man, the finest 
solace of intellectual labors, and the simplest yet the 
most effectual and delightful mode of at once resting and 
invigorating the mind, whether wearied by study or de- 
pressed by struggles with fortune. All good conversa- 
tion, manners and action, says Emerson, come from a 
spontaneity which forgets usages and makes the moment 
great. While the gift of conversation proves a clever 
man, the want of it is no proof of a dull one. If we 
enter into conversation upon equal terms with the lowest 
of the people, unrestrained by circumstance, unawed by 
interest, we shall find in ourselves but little superiority 
over them. If we know what they do not, they know 
what we do not. In general, those who do things for 
others know more about them than those for whom they 
are done. A groom knows more about horses than his 
master. 

Would you both please and be instructed, too, 
Watch well the rage of shining, to subdue ; 
Hear every man upon his favorite theme ; 
And ever be more knowing than you seem ; 
The lowest genius will afford some light, 
Or give a hint that had escaped your sight. 

It is a sure method of obliging in conversation, to 
show a pleasure in giving attention. In discourse it is 
good to hear others first; for silence has the same effect 
as authority. The art of conversation consists much less 
in your own abundance than in enabling others to find 
talk for themselves. Men do not wish to admire you; 
they want to please. The most honorable part of talk is 
to give the occasion. Coleridge was very luminous in 
conversation, and invariably commanded listeners; yet 
the old lady rated his talent very lowly, when she de- 
clared she had no patience with a man who would have 
all the talk to himself. No one, says dean Loker, will 
ever shine in conversation who thinks of saying fine 
things. To please, one must say many things indifferent, 



494 CONVERSATION. 

and many very bad. This last rule of the Dean's is rarely 
violated in society. Conversation should be pleasant 
without scurrility, witty without affectation, learned with- 
out pedantry, novel without falsehood." There is nothing, 
says Plato, so delightful ? as the hearing or speaking of 
truth. For this reason there is no conversation so agree- 
able as that of the man of integrity, who hears without 
any intention to betray, and speaks without any intention 
to deceive. Dr. Johnson said "that to speak truth al- 
ways, one must of course, be continually watching." One 
drop of ink will blacken a whole glassful of pure water. 
So will one evil communication make the whole heart 
foul. In the lightness of conversation we should respect 
modesty and piety. To make them blush or to wound 
them is a course play, a social crime. 

In conversation, humor is more than wit, easiness more 
than knowledge. Few desire to learn, or to think they 
need it; all desire to be pleased, or if not, to be easy. 
In conversation condescend to a compliance rather than 
continue a dispute. It is the union of parts and acquire- 
ments, of spirit and modesty, which produces the inde- 
finable charm of conversation. Steele says that the most 
necessary talent in a man of conversation, is a good 
judgment. 

One of the foremost arts of life — conversation — is also 
one of the least understood, and most poorly cultivated. 
How seldom we meet a conversable person! How im- 
mensely does our interest in persons depend upon their 
conversational skill. We are forever measuring men's 
capacity, wit, judgment, sense, and knowledge of the 
world, by the fragments of their talk which we hear. 
This is the standard to which we bring all our compan- 
ions, just or unjust, superficial or profound, we do uncon- 
sciously erect this criterion of the tongue by which to 
judge the whole man. We advise all young people to 
acquire, in early life, the habit of using good language, 
both in speaking and writing, and to abandon as early as 
possible, any use of slang words and phrases. The 
longer they live, the more difficult the acquisition of such 
language will be ; and if the golden age of youth, the 



CONVERSATION. 495 

proper season for the acquisition of language, be past in 
its abuse, the unfortunate victim of neglected education 
is very probably doomed to talk slang for life. Money is 
not necessary to procure their education. Every man 
has it in his power. He has merely to use the language 
which he reads, instead of the slang which he hears ; to 
form his taste from the best speakers and poets of the 
country ; to treasure up choice phrases in his memory, 
and to habituate' himself to their use — avoiding at the 
same time, that pedantic precision and bombast, which 
show rather the weakness of a vain and ambitious than 
the polish of an educated mind. 

Some people never attempt to obtain a clear idea of 
the exact meaning of the words which they employ in 
writing and conversation. They utter them at random, 
and if they happen to convey the idea which they in- 
tended them to convey, the result is to be attributed 
rather to chance than to their knowledge and discrimina- 
tion. This fault is very common among those who love 
big, sonorous words, — more common, indeed, among 
them than among the ignorant and uneducated. Those 
who are in the habit of selecting long words for use in 
conversation, generally are not worth listening to. The 
plainest and commonest words in the English language 
are the best for both conversation and writing. 

William Cullen Bryant gave the following excellent ad- 
vice to a young man who offered him an article for the 
Evening Post: u My young friend, I observe that you have 
used several French expressions in your article. I think 
if you will study the English language, that you will find 
it capable of expressing all the ideas that you may have. 
I have always found it so, and in all that I have written 
I do not recall an instance when I was tempted to use a 
foreign word, but that, on searching, I found a better one 
in my own language. Be simple, unaffected; be honest 
in your speaking and writing. Never use a long word 
where a short one will do. Call a spade a spade, not a 
well known oblong instrument of manual industry; let 
home be a home, not a residence; a place a place, not a 
locality, and so of the rest. Where a short word will do, 



496 CONVERSATION. 

you always lose by using a long one. You lose in clear- 
ness, you lose in honest expression of your meaning; and 
in the estimation of all men who are competent to judge, 
you lose in reputation for ability. The only true way to 
shine even in this false world, is to be modest and unas- 
suming. Falsehood may be a very thick crust, but in 
the course of time truth will find a place to break 
through. Elegance of language may not be in the power 
of all of us, but simplicity and straightforwardness are. 
Write much as you would speak ; speak as you think. If 
with your inferior, speak no coarser than usual ; if your 
superior, speak no finer. Be what you say, and within 
the rules of prudence, say what you are. Avoid all od- 
dity of expression. No one ever was a gainer by singu- 
larity of words, or in pronunciation. The truly wise 
man will so speak that no one will observe how he speaks. 
A man may show great knowledge of chemistry by car- 
rying about bladders of strange gases to breathe, but he 
will enjoy better health, and find more time for business, 
who lives on common air. When I hear a person use a 
queer expression, or pronounce a name in reading differ- 
ently from his neighbor, the habit always goes down, 
minus sign before, it stands on the side of deficit, not of 
credit. Talk as sensible men talk ; use the easiest words 
in their commonest meaning. Let the sense conveyed, 
not the vehicle in which it is conveyed, be your subject 
of attention. Avoid in conversation all singularity of 
accuracy. One of the bores of society is the bore who 
is always setting you right ; who, when you report from 
the paper that 10,000 men fell in some battle, tells you 
that it was 9,999; who when you describe your walk as 
two miles out and back, assures you that it lacked half a 
furlong of it. Truth does not consist in minute accuracy 
of detail, but in conveying a right impression ; and there 
are vague ways of speaking that are truer than strict fact 
would be. When the Psalmist said " Rivers of waters 
run down mine eyes, because men keep not thy law," he 
did not state the fact, but he stated a truth deeper than 
fact and also truer. 

Delight not yourself with lampoons, satires, and jests; 



CONVERSATION. 497 

for whatever pleasure they procure at first, the reflection 
that follows, is rarely favorable to the author. Good na- 
ture is more agreeable in conversation than wit, and gives 
a certain air to the countenance, which is more amiable 
than beauty. Avoid all boastings and exaggerations, back- 
biting, abuse, and evil speaking, slang phrases and oaths 
in conversation ; depreciate no man's qualities, and accept 
hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appre- 
ciative manner; avoid giving offence, and if you do 
offend, have the manliness to apologize; infuse as much 
elegance as possible into your thoughts as well as your 
actions ; and as you avoid vulgarities you will increase 
the enjoyments of life, and grow in the respect of others. 
Beware of impure words. Filthy conversation is a 
fruitful means of corruption. It is a channel by which 
the impurity of one heart may be communicated to an- 
other. And we know who hath said, "Evil communica- 
tions corrupt good manners." Words are an index of 
the state of the heart. Hence says Christ, " By thy words 
thou shalt be condemned ; for every idle word that men 
shall speak they shall give account thereof in the day of 
judgment." There are those whose conversation is filthy 
and disgusting. Parents should guard their children from 
such. They should themselves avoid every indelicate ex- 
pression and check the first appearance of any such thing 
in their children. Avoid foolish talking and jesting. Let 
your words always be pure. The frequent use of the 
name of God or the devil ; allusions to passages of Scrip- 
ture; mocking at anything serious and devout; oaths, 
vulgar by- words, cant phrases, effected hard words, when 
familiar terms will do as well ; scraps of Latin, Greek or 
French; quotations from plays spoken in a theatrical 
manner — all these much used in conversation render a 
person very contemptible to grave and wise men. Let 
your subject be something of necessity and use ; some- 
thing that may advance the love and practice of virtue, 
reform the passions, or instruct the understanding ; such 
as may administer advice to men in difficulties, comfort 
them under afflictions, assist them in the search of truth, 
give them a reverend sense of God, and an awful admira- 

32 



498 CONVERSATION. 

tion of his divine excellence. We should always accom- 
modate ourselves to the capacity of those with whom we 
converse. The discourse of some men is like the stars 
which give little light because they are so high. This 
rule should be observed in all conversation, that men 
should not talk to please themselves, but those that hear 
them. This would make them consider, whether what 
they speak be worth hearing; whether there be either 
wit or sense in what they are about to say; and whether 
it be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the 
person to whom it is spoken. Speak to old men of the 
past, to the middle-aged of the present, and to the young 
of the future. It is the art of conversation not only to 
say the right thing in the right place, but far more diffi- 
cult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting 
moment. One reason why we see so few agreeable in 
conversation, is, that almost everybody is more intent 
upon what he himself has a mind to say, than upon 
making pertinent replies to what the rest of the company 
say to him. The object of conversation is to entertain 
and amuse. To be agreeable, you must learn to be a 
good listener. A man who monopolizes the conversation 
is a bore, no matter how great his knowledge. A man 
of good sense will seem to be less knowing, more oblig- 
ing ; and choose to be on a level with others, rather than 
oppress with the superiority of his genius. The thread 
of conversation is sustained among many persons, by each 
knowing when to take a stitch in time. If in conversa- 
tion, you think a person wrong, rather hint a difference 
of opinion than offer a contradiction. Be not easily ex- 
ceptions, nor rudely familiar ; the one will breed conten- 
tion, the other contempt. It is to the virtues and errors 
of our conversation and ordinary deportment, that we 
owe both our enemies and our friends, our good or bad 
character abroad, our domestic peace and troubles, and in 
a high degree the improvement and depravations of our 
minds. Let us then so order our conversation in the 
world that we may live when we are dead in the affec- 
tions of the best, and leave an honorable testimony in 
the consciences of the worst. 



CONVERSATION. 499 

The first ingredient in conversation is truth ; the next is 
good sense; the third, good humor; and the fourth, wit. 

The whole force of conversation, says Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, depends on how much you can take for granted. 
Vulgar Chess players have to play their games out ; noth- 
ing short of the brutality of an actual checkmate satisfies 
them. But look at the masters of that noble game ! 
White stands well enough so far as you can see ; but the 
red says "mate in six moves." White looks, nods — the 
game is over. Just so in talking with first-rate men, 
especially when they are good natured and expansive. Con- 
versation is a traffic ; and if you enter into it without 
some stock of knowledge to balance the account perpet- 
ually betwixt you, the trade stops at once. A man's want 
of conversation generally arises from his supposing that 
his mind is like Fortunatus' purse, and will always fur- 
nish him without his putting anything into it. * 

Sala says, "In all seriousness and sincerity, I render to 
the young ladies of America the tribute of being the 
most accomplished talkers in the world. Their readiness 
of diction, the facile flow of ideas, their quickness of 
apprehension, are really and truly astonishing." Among 
all the " accomplishments " which our young ladies are 
expected to acquire, the art of conversation is included. 
No grace of person or manners can compensate the lack 
of this. In youth, the conversation of our women is too 
apt to be trifling and insipid, and in middle-age is too 
often confined to complaints of health and the scandal of 
the day. Lively conversation upon instructing and elevat- 
ing topics is but little practised, but whenever it is found 
it gives a charm to the society of females which nothing 
else can. It triumphs over deformity and old age, and 
makes ugliness itself agreeable. Curran, speaking of 
Madame de Stael, who was by no means handsome, but 
a splendid conversationalist, said that she had the power 
of talking herself into a beauty. Ladies should think of 
this. Beauty lies in other things than fine features or 
cosmetics. Women, however lovely they maybe in per- 
son, rarely excite true admiration, it they are ignorant of 
the art of conversing well. No man can be master in 



500 CONVERSATION. 

conversation who has not talked with woman. In con- 
versation lies the greatest charm to a thoughtful mind. 
It is instructive, and yet so elegant — so winning, and still 
sensible, that its fascination is like a spell cast over the hu- 
man being to invigorate the functions of the brain, and 
rouse into activity every pure emotion of the heart. There 
is nothing in the world like it, except love ; and as that 
divine passion would be nothing without it, they may be 
considered inseparable. Commend us to conversation, 
for it improves, adorns and sanctifies, and in no place is 
more delightful than by the fireside of an agreeable- 
tempered, intelligent, family group. 

A ready man is made by conversation. He that buries 
himself among his manuscripts "besprent," as Pope ex- 
presses it, u with learned dust," and wears out his days 
and nights in perpetual research and solitary meditation, 
is too apt to lose, in his elocution, what he adds to his 
wisdom ; and when he comes into the world, to appear 
overloaded with his own notions, like a man armed with 
weapons which he cannot wield. He has no facility of 
inculcating his speculations ; of adapting himself to the 
various degrees of intellect which the accidents of con- 
versation will present; but will talk to most unintel- 
ligibly, and to all unpleasantly. Addison, who is ac- 
knowledge to have been one of the most elegant writers 
that ever lived, was awkwardly stupid in conversation. 
The conversation of Goldsmith was so notoriously flat 
and pointless as to provoke the remark that he "wrote 
like an angel, and talked like poor Poll." Corneille, the 
greatest dramatist of France, was completely lost in so- 
ciety — so absent and embarrassed that he wrote of himself 
a witty couplet, importing that he was never intelligible 
but through the mouth of another. Wit on paper seems 
to be something widely different from that play of words 
in conversation, which, while it sparkles, dies ; for Charles 
II., the wittiest monarch that ever sat on the English 
throne, was so charmed with the humor of "Hudibras" 
that he caused himself to be introduced, in the character 
of a private gentleman, to Butler, its author. The witty 
king found the author a very dull companion, and was of 



CONVERSATION. 501 

the opinion, with man)* others, that so stupid a fellow could 
never have written so clever a book. Some one pithily 
says, l 'Authors ought to be read and not heard." The 
biography of men of letters, in a great measure, confirms 
this opinion. Some of the greatest names in English and 
French literature, men who have filled books with an elo- 
quence and truth that defy oblivion, were mere mutes 
before their fellow men. They had golden ingots, which, 
in the privacy of home, they could convert into coin 
bearing an impress that would insure universal currency, 
but they could not, on the spur of the moment, produce 
the farthings current in the market-place. Descartes, 
the famous mathematician and philosopher, Lafontaine, 
celebrated for his witty fables, and Buffon, the great nat- 
uralist, were all singularly deficient in the powers of con- 
versation. Marmontelj the novelist, was so dull in 
society that his friends said of him, after an interview, 
" I must go and read his tales to recompense myself for 
the weariness of hearing him." Tasso's conversation was 
neither gay nor brilliant. Dante was either taciturn or 
satirical. Butler was either sullen or biting. Gray sel- 
dom talked or smiled. Hogarth and Swift were absent- 
minded in company. Milton was very unsociable and 
irritable when pressed into conversation. Kirwin, though 
copious and eloquent in public address, was meagre and 
dull in colloquial discourses. Virgil was heavy in con- 
versation. La Fontaine appeared heavy, coarse and 
stupid ; he could not speak and describe what he had just 
seen ; but then he was the model of poetry. Chaucer's 
silence was more agreeable than his conversation. Dry- 
den's conversation w^as slow and dull, his humor satur- 
nine and reserved. Cornelius in conversation was so 
insipid that he never failed in wearying; he did not even 
speak correctly that language of which he was such a 
master. Ben Johnson used to sit silent in company and 
suck his wine. Southey was stiff, sedate, and wrapped 
up in asceticism. Addison was good company with his 
intimate friends, but in mixed company he preserved his 
dignity by a stiff and reserved silence. Fox in conversa- 
tion never flagged, his animation and vivacity were inex- 



502 CONVERSATION. 

haustible. Dr. Bently was loquacious, as was also Grotius. 
Goldsmith "wrote like an angel and talked like poor 
Poll." Burke was entertaining, enthusiastic and interest- 
ing in conversation. Curran was a convivial deity. Leigh 
Hunt was a pleasant stream in conversation. Carlyle 
doubts, objects and constantly demurs. 

Conversation of the ignorant is generally confined to 
indifferent, low, or perhaps vicious subjects; and all that 
is serious or good, is almost banished. Some are so pol- 
luted in the mouth, as to utter nothing that is decent ; 
supplying the want of wit for the want of modesty, and 
the want of reputation for the want of shame. As a 
bird is known by his note, so is a man by his discourse. 
Our conversation should be such as to afford youth im- 
provement, women modesty, the aged respect, and all 
men civility. It is a fair step toward happiness and vir- 
tue, to delight in the conversation of good and wise men ; 
and where that cannot be had, the next thing is to keep 
no company at all. They who have the true taste of 
conversation, enjoy themselves in a communication of 
each other's excellencies, and not in a triumph over their 
imperfections. He who treats men ingeniously, and con- 
verses kindly with them, gains a good esteem with a 
very little expense. 

The true art of conversation seems to be this: An 
agreeable freedom and openness, with a reservedness and 
as little appearing as possible. Freedom, which is the 
life of conversation, must be reciprocal, or it cannot be 
agreeable. Too much familiarity breeds contempt. 

How long the lamp of conversation holds out to burn 
between two persons only, is curiously set down in the 
following passage from Count Gonfallioner's account of 
his imprisonment : "Fifteen years I existed in a dun- 
geon ten feet square. During six years I had a compan- 
ion; during nine I was alone. I never could rightly dis- 
tinguish the face of him who shared my captivity, in the 
eternal twilight of our cell. The first year we talked 
incessantly together; we related our past lives, our joys 
forever gone, over and over again. The next year we 
communicated to each other our thoughts and ideas on 



CONVERSATION. 503 

all subjects. The third year we had nothing to commu- 
nicate ; we were beginning to lose the power of reflec- 
tion. The fourth, at the interval of a month or so, we 
would open our lips to ask each other if it were possible 
that the world went on as gay and bustling as when we 
formed a portion of mankind. The fifth we were silent. 
The sixth he was taken away — I never heard where, to 
execution or liberty. But I was glad when he was gone ; 
even solitude was better than the pale, vacant face. One 
day, it must have been a year or two after my companion 
left me — the dungeon door was open, whence proceeding 
I knew not, the following words were uttered: "By 
order of his Imperial Majesty, I intimate to you that your 
wife died a year ago. 1 ' Then the door was shut, and I 
heard no more; they had flung this great agony upon 
me, and left me alone with it. 

The most casual remark lives forever in its effects. 
There is not a word which has not a moral history. And 
hence it is that every "idle word" which men utter, as- 
sumes a character so important, that an inquest will be 
held on it in the general judgment. Good, kind, true, 
holy words, dropped in conversation, may be little 
thought of, but they are like seeds of flower or fruitful 
tree falling by the wayside, borne by some bird afar, 
happily thereafter to fringe with beauty some barren 
mountain side, or to make glad some lonely wilderness. 
Bishop Latimer, when examined before Bonner, at first 
answered without much thought or care; but hearing the 
movement of a pen behind the curtain, he perceived that 
a writer was taking down his words, and the effect was 
to make him considerate and wary. He said he then re- 
alized as never before the force of his Lord's premonition 
— "By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy 
words thou shalt be condemned." How changed would 
be much of our conversation if we were suitably aware 
that an invisible hand is recording our utterances ! As 
there is an eye that sees our actions, however hidden 
from human observation, so there is an ear that hears 
whatever we speak. Every word is registered, and we 
shall have to meet it in our final trial at the great day. 



504 HEARERS. 

The following advice Shakspeare makes Polonious give 
to his son Laertes, when about to set out on his travels: 

Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar; 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatched, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
Bear't,that th' opposed may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all — to thine own self be true ; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 



HEARERS. 

It is a Jewish proverb that hearers are of four sorts — 
the sponge, which swallows up everything; the funnel, 
which allows that to escape at one end which it receives 
at the other; the filterer which allows the liquor to 
escape and retains the dregs; the seive, which rejects the 
chaff and retains nothing but the wheat. 

To listen well is a most rare accomplishment. Indeed, 
it is a thing beyond an accomplishment. It takes a great 
man to make a good listener. The ordinary hindrances 
to good listening are very considerable, such as the de- 
sire to talk one's self, proneness to interrupt, the inaccu- 
racy, — if one may use such an expression, — of most men 
in listening. 

But there is something which prevents good listening 
in a much more subtle way, and to a much more danger- 
ous extent, than any of the above named hindrances. It 
is this: — As soon as you begin to give utterance to some 
sentiment or opinion, narrate some story, declare some 
fact, you will find that your hearer, in nine cases out of 



HEARERS. 505 

ten, strikes at once a mental attitude in reference to what 
you say. He receives it as a friend, or as a foe, or as a 
critic, or as an advocate, or as a judge. Now, all these 
characters may afterwards be fairly taken up; but the 
first thing is to listen, if it may be so expressed, out of 
character, — to be a bona fide listener and nothing more. 
'This requires some of the simplicity of greatness. It in- 
dicates the existence, too, of that respect which really 
great men have for other men, and for truth. 

It is a sure method of obliging in conversation to show 
a pleasure in giving attention. 

The following are given as hints to hearers: — 1. Turn 
a deaf ear to slanders ; be sure never to mention them 
again. 2. Feed not the innate desire to hear ill of an- 
other. 3. Listen to no tale against another, which you 
are requested not to repeat. 4. Beware of conversation 
with a tale-bearer, or with one who revealeth secrets. 
5. Beware of the busy, self-important messenger ; remem- 
ber that "he that is first in his own cause seemeth just; 
but his neighbor cometh and searcheth him." 6. If you 
should hear ill of another, remember that your informant 
may be mistaken or deceived ; he may be misinformed, 
or prejudiced by party spirit. 7. In any doubtful case, 
communicate with the party before forming a judgment. 

8. Ask counsel of God before mentioning a report again. 

9. Prejudice distorts innocent and even praiseworthy acts ; 
beware of taking even a fact from a prejudiced person. 
From other lips matters might appear very different. 10. 
Charity puts the best — the want of it, the worst — con- 
struction on what is told us. 11. "Meddle not with him 
that nattereth with his lips." — Prov. xx. 17. 

The art of not hearing is fully as important to domestic 
happiness as a cultivated ear, for which so much time and 
money is expended. There are so many things which it 
is painful to hear, many of which, if heard, will disturb 
the temper and detract from contentment and happiness, 
that every one should be educated to take in or shut out 
sounds at will. 

If a man falls into a violent passion and calls me all 
manner of names, the first word shuts my ears and I hear 



506 THOUGHT. 

no more. If in my quiet voyage of life, I am caught in 
one of those domestic whirlwinds of scolding, I shut my 
ears, as a sailor would furl his sails, and, making all tight, 
scud before the gale. If a hot and restless man begins 
to inflame my feelings, I consider what mischief these 
sparks might do in the magazine below, where my temper 
is kept, and instantly close the door. Does a gadding, 
mischief-making fellow begin to inform me what people 
are saying about me, down drops the portcullis of my ear, 
and he cannot get in any further. 

Some people feel very anxious to hear every thing 
that will vex or annoy them. If it is hinted that any 
one has spoken ill of them, they set about searching and 
finding it out. If all the petty things said of one by the 
heedless or ill-natured idlers were to be brought home to 
him, he would become a mere walking pincushion, stuck 
full of sharp remarks. I should as soon thank a man for 
emptying on my head a bushel of nettles, or setting loose 
a swarm of mosquitoes in my chamber, or raising a pun- 
gent dust in my house generally, as to bring upon me all 
the tattle of spiteful people. If you would be happy, 
when among good men open your ears; when among 
bad, shut them. 

It is not worth while to hear what your servants say 
when they are angry; what your children say when they 
have slammed the door ; what a beggar says whose peti- 
tion you have rejected ; what your neighbors say about 
your children ; what your rivals say about your business 
or dress. I have noticed that a well-bred woman never 
hears an impertinent remark. A kind of discreet deaf- 
ness saves one from many insults, from much blame, 
from not a little apparent connivance in dishonorable 
conversation. 



THOUGHT. 

To think correctly is a great accomplishment. Sir 
Isaac Newton, on being asked how he had discovered the 
system of the universe, replied, "By continually think- 



THOUGHT. 507 

ing upon it." At another time he said, "By thinking I 
have triumphed." There never was a great action which 
had not nearly or remotely, a great thought for its an- 
cestor. 

Thinking, not growth, makes perfect manhood. There 
are some, who, though they are done growing are only 
boys. The constitution may be fixed, while the judg- 
ment is immature ; the limbs may be strong, while the 
reasoning is feeble. Many who can run and jump, and 
bear any fatigue, can not observe, can not examine, can 
not reason or judge, contrive or execute — they do not 
think. Accustom yourself, then, to thinking. Set your- 
self to understand whatever you see or read. To run 
through a book is not a difficult task, nor is it a profitable 
one. To understand a few pages only, is far better than 
to read the whole, where mere reading it is all. If the 
work does not set you to thinking, either you or the 
author must be very deficient. It is only by thinking 
that a man can know himself. Yet all other knowledge 
without this is splendid ignorance. Not a glance merely, 
but much close examination will be requisite for the 
forming a true opinion of your own powers. Ignorance 
and self-conceit always tend to make you overrate your 
personal ability; as a slight degree of knowledge may 
make a timid mind pass upon himself too humble a judg- 
ment. It is only by thinking, and much impartial obser- 
vation, that a man can discover his real disposition. A 
hasty temper only supposes itself properly alive; an in- 
dolent indulger imagines he is as active as any one ; but 
by close and severe examination each may discover some- 
thing nearer the truth. Thinking is, indeed, the very 
germ of self-cultivation — the source from which all vital 
influence springs. Thinking will do much for an active 
mind, even in the absence of books, or living instructors. 
The reasoning faculty grows firm, expands, discerns its 
own powers, acts with increasing facility, precision and 
extent, under all its privations. Where there is no priva- 
tion, but every help from former thinkers, how much 
may we not expect from it! Thus great characters rise. 
While he who thinks little, though much he reads, or 



508 THOUGHT. 

much he sees, can hardly call anything he has his own. 
He trades with borrowed capital, and is in the high 
road to literary or rather to mental bankruptcy. 

Next to the good heart and clear conscience, is the 
clear head. Dull thinkers are always led by sharp ones. 
The keen intellect cuts its way smoothly, gracefully, rap- 
idly; the dull one wears its life out against the simplest 
problems. To perceive accurately and to think correctly, 
is the aim of all mental training, and — I had almost said 
— of life itself. But I will not say that. Heart and con- 
science are more than the mere intellect. Yet we cannot 
tell how much the clear, clean-cut thought, — the intel- 
lectual vision, sharp and true, may aid even these. Some 
say that a man never feels till he sees, and when the ob- 
ject disappears, the feeling ceases. So we cannot exag- 
gerate the importance of clear, correct thinking. We 
should eat, drink, sleep, walk, exercise body and mind, 
to this end. Just so far as we fail, we make dolts and 
idiots of ourselves. We cast away our natural armor and 
defense. The designing make us dupes, we are over- 
reached by the crafty, and trodden under foot by the 
strong. Yery likely there is a low murmur of conscience, 
too, for falling below its pure ideal. This adds a sharp 
sting to the shame of conscious dullness. A man's great 
power in the natural world, — among Nature's forces, 
water, steam and lightning, — is not in his muscle, but his 
brain. Any horse can pull harder, lift more and endure 
it longer than the most perfectly developed man. But a 
single human brain can rule a nation of horses. It is for 
us, then, to look out for this. If we would share what 
has not only given Napoleons, Caesars and Alexanders 
their power, but the great conquerors of natural forces 
as well, — the Fultons and the Morses, — let us look out for 
brain; see that late suppers and indigestion do not rob 
it of vitality, that alcohol does not harden it, nor want 
of sleep goad it on to insanity ; but that natural, honest 
living may render it the clear, strong, glorious thing it 
may become. 

All mental superiority originates in habits of thinking. 
A child, indeed, like a machine, may be made to perform 



THOUGHT. 509 

certain functions by external means; but it is only when 
he begins to think that he rises to the dignity of a 
rational being. It is not reading, but thinking, that 
gives you the possession of knowledge. A person may 
see, hear, read and learn, whatever he pleases, and as 
much as he pleases; but he will know very little, if any- 
thing, of it, beyond that which he has thought over, and 
made the property of his mind. Take away thought 
from the life of man, and what remains? You may glean 
knowledge by reading, but you must separate the chaff 
from the wheat by thinking. Dr. McClintock says: "It 
is a great guilt in any man to allow any mental faculties 
he may possess to become rusty from disuse, or to sub- 
mit implicitly to another." 

But deep thinking implies earnest acting. Let an in- 
dividual give careful, rational, intelligent thought to any 
principle, and his actions will be characterized and influ- 
enced by that principle. What stupenduous thoughts 
must have revolved in the mind of Columbus, that he 
should give a new world to civilized man. What grand 
ideas must have glowed in the soul of a Newton, that he 
should reveal the occult laws of the planetary universe. 
The great inventions of the present and former ages, 
have been the result of deep and oft times painful 
thought. Evil thoughts, too, have had their sway. Am- 
bition has heaped the earth with mangled slain, and 
Avarice and Malice brought great calamities in their 
train. Let every person cultivate the powers of deep 
thinking, connected with those of high moral action — of 
subjection in all things to the precepts of right, — and a 
world of new power would be given to society ; — a world 
of thorough- working, intelligent minds would become 
active co-operators in carrying forward the great Reforms 
of the age. Every improvement of our time, whether 
in science, politics, or religion, would be characterized 
by a higher spirit, — would tend to the elevation of the 
people in the scale of virtue and intelligence. 

Our thoughts very greatly influence our actions. It is 
questionable whether a man could long think on any 
subject, without the course of his life being colored by 



510 THOUGHT 

it. Like certain silkworms which yield silk colored ac- 
cording to the food they have fed on, so our life grad- 
ually takes the tinge and hue of the thoughts to which 
we most accustom ourselves. We have had in our police- 
courts of late, frequent instances of this. Boys have 
been studying literature of the Jack Sheppard and Dick 
Turpin order — and they have become thieves of neces- 
sity. Men who have been deeply read in French novels, 
Byronic poetry, and German metaphysics, have become 
dissolute and sceptical, and none could wonder. You 
can not send the mind up the chimney, and expect it to 
come down white. Whatever road the thoughts traverse, 
all the faculties of manhood will go after them. On the 
whole, it is of as great importance for a man to take heed 
what thoughts he entertains, as what company he keeps ; 
for they have the same effect on his mind. Bad thoughts 
are as infectious as bad company; and good thoughts 
solace, instruct and entertain the mind, like good com- 
pany. And this is one great advantage of retirement, 
that a man may choose what company he pleases from 
within himself. As in the world we oftener light in bad 
company than good, so in solitude we are oftener troubled 
with impertinent and unprofitable thoughts, than enter- 
tained with agreeable and useful ones; and a man that 
hath so far lost the command of himself, as to lie at the 
mercy of every foolish and vexing thought, is much in 
the same situation as a host whose door is open to all 
comers; whom, though ever so noisy, rude, or trouble- 
some, he cannot get rid of; but with this difference, that 
the latter hath some recompense for his trouble, the for- 
mer none at all, but is robbed of his peace and quiet for 
nothing. Carlyle says that each man carries under his 
hat a u Private Theatre," whereon a greater drama than 
is ever performed on the mimic stage is acted, beginning 
and ending in Eternity. 

We cannot guard too much against indulging in 
thoughts and actions, which, trivial as they may at first 
appear, would give a cast to our whole character, should 
they become settled habits. Good thoughts are compan- 
ions ; often our best. Impure thoughts are the seeds of 



THOUGHT. 511 

sin. If dropped into the soil of the mind and heart, 
they should be cast out immediately; otherwise they will 
germinate, spring up, and bear the fruit of sinful words 
and acts. Entertain no thoughts which you would blush 
at in words. Beware of evil thoughts. They have done 
great mischief in the world. Bad thoughts come first, 
bad words follow, and bad deeds finish the progress. 
Watch against them, strive against them, pray against 
them. They prepare the way for the enemy of souls. 

" Bad thought's a thief; he acts his part ; 
Creeps through the windows of the heart ; 
And if he once his way can win, 
He lets a hundred robbers in." 

The value of our thoughts depends much upon the 
course thy take — whether the subject in hand is examined 
fully and carefully, or only given an undecided glance, 
when our thoughts revert to other matters, to be treated 
in the same desultory way. Many minds from want of 
training cannot really tMnh, and it is of great importance 
that right habits of thought be formed and fostered in 
early life. That mental discipline is of great value which 
will enable us to give our close and undivided attention 
to any subject which we wish to investigate. In order 
to judge rightly, we must look at a matter on all sides — 
we must take it in all its bearings, or our judgment is an 
imperfect and partial one; — and this task is an almost 
impossible one to those without the habit of close, con- 
secutive thinking. They try to investigate a matter, but 
the mind wanders — the thoughts will not be controlled, 
and they can arrive, but with great effort, at the results 
so easy to the mind trained from early life to right habits 
of thought. Parents and teachers can do much to form 
this habit in those under their care; and when once ac- 
quired, its daily exercise on the subjects brought before 
us in our intercourse with the world and with good 
books — the repositories of the thought of the past 
ages, — cannot fail to preserve and improve it. 

He who cannot command his thoughts must not hope 
to control his actions. All mental superiority originates 



51? THOUGHT. 

in habits of thinking. Become master of your thoughts, 
so that you can command them at pleasure. Whenever 
you read, have your thoughts about you. Make careful 
observations as you pass along, and select subjects upon 
which your mind shall dwell when your book shall have 
been laid aside. He who reads only for present gratifi- 
cation and neglects to digest what he reads, nor calls it 
up for future contemplation, will not be likely to ever 
know the extent of his own powers, for the test best cal- 
culated to make them known will remain unemployed. 
Consider the great field which is open before you. The 
manifold works of nature — earth, sea, air with their in- 
habitants, and the heavenly bodies, all invite your ^atten- 
tion. Into whichever department you take your way, 
you will be amazed at the magnitude and grandeur of 
the objects by which you are surrounded, and your mind 
will be filled with the most exalted conceptions of the 
goodness, wisdom and power of the Creator. 

As a creature of memory, every thought which man 
voluntarily entertains will abide with him forever. If it 
be a thought in harmony with divine will, and he has 
acted in harmony with it, it will never cease to yield him 
good; if he have not so acted, it will never cease to re- 
proach and condemn him. If it be an evil thought, and 
he have repented of it, and not carried it out into action, 
it can never yet cease to be an occasion of regret. If he 
have not repented of it, it remains with him in effect, as 
an over-running fountain of pollution. How terrible the 
ordeal of having to meet the sinful thoughts of a long 
life of guilt! How fearful the prospect of having to con- 
front them not for an age merely, or a million of ages, 
but to have the ordeal repeated through every point of 
endless duration. 

In the best of all books, we read, " As a man think- 
eth in his heart, so is he." Reader, did you ever think 
of this? Did you ever consider the power, the majesty 
and the philosophy of thought? Do you comprehend 
the full measure and meaning of the inspired words, u As 
a man thinketh in his heart so is he?" Man is not as he 
seems nor as he acts, but as he thinks. It is thought and 



THOUGHT. 513 

not deeds that makes the man. Deeds are the paper cur- 
rency of character stamped in the mint of purity. Deeds 
make reputation — thought makes character. Reputation 
is what a man is thought to be — character is what a man 
is. Thought surpasses deeds in its essential power and 
grandeur in the same ratio as character surpasses reputa- 
tion. As a man's thoughts are so is his life. As a man 
thinks so he acts; his life is the perpetual index of his 
thoughts. As he thinks of sales, and schemes, and bar- 
gains, so is he in politics. As he thinks of truth and vir- 
tue, so is he in morals. As he thinks of Christ and Reli- 
gion, so is he in piety. The statement, then, that it 
does not matter what a man thinks or believes, so his life 
is right, is as false in fact as it is dangerous in theory. A 
man's character is good or bad, in exact correspondence 
with his thoughts. Doctrine and duty are as inseparably 
joined together as principle and practice, and both are 
alike indispensable to the formation of a beautiful and 
consistent character. Believe me, this world is not a 
world in which we can do well without thinking, and 
least of all, do well in the matter of our souls. " Don't 
think," whispers Satan; he knows that an unconverted 
heart is like a dishonest tradesman's book, — it will not 
bear a close inspection. "Consider your ways," says the 
word of God — stop and think — consider and be wise. 
Well says the Spanish proverb, "Hurry comes of the 
devil." Just as men marry in haste, and repent at leisure, 
so they make mistakes about their souls in a minute, and 
then suffer for it for years. A thinking man, says Carlyle, 
is the worst enemy the Prince of Darkness can have; 
every time such a one announces himself, I doubt not 
there runs a shudder through the nether empire ; and 
new emissaries are trained, with new tactics, to, if possi- 
ble, entrap him, and hoodwink and handcuff him. 

Evil is wrought from want of thought 
As well as want of heart. 

Young man, in the flush of early strength, stop and 
think ere you take a downward step. Many a precious 
life is wrecked through thoughtlessness alone. If you. 



514 THOUGHT. 

find yourself in low company, do not sit carelessly by till 
you are gradually but surely drawn into the whirlpool 
and shame, but think of the consequences of such a 
course. Rational thought will lead you to seek the 
society of your superiors ; and you must improve by the 
association. A benevolent use of your example and in- 
fluence for the elevation of your inferiors, is a noble 
thing ; even the most depraved are not beyond such 
help. But the young man of impressible character must, 
at least, think, and beware lest he fall himself a victim. 
Think before you touch the wine; see its effect upon 
thousands, and know that you are no stronger than they 
were in their youth. Think before you allow angry pas- 
sions to overcome your reason; it is thus that murderers 
are made. Think before, in a dark hour of temptation, 
you borrow without leave, lest you become a thief. 
Think well ere a lie or an oath passes your lips; for a 
man of pure speech only can merit respect. Ah! think 
on things true and lovely, and of good report, that there 
may be better men and happier women in the world. 

Nothing promotes fixation of thought more than the 
closing of our eyes ; for according to the Arabian proverb ; 
when the five windows of the senses are shut, the house 
of the mind is fullest of light. 

The blind man thinks more constantly than the seeing 
man ; this from his habit of uninterrupted introspection. 
Out of blindness came the Iliad and the Paradise Lost. 
Thoughts weighed in silence are most likely to develop 
into wisdom. The revolutions produced by a genius in 
the world of thought, actually end in actual revolution 
in society. Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be 
tried. The best thoughts are ever swiftest winged, the 
duller lag behind. A thought must have its own way of 
expression, or it will have no way at all. The thought 
that lives is only the deeds struggling into birth. It is 
with our thoughts as with our flowers — those that are 
simple in expression carry their seed with them; those 
that are double charm the mind, but produce nothing. 

To think clearly is among the first requirements of a 
public teacher. The faculty must be improved, like 



THOUGHT. 515 

other faculties of the mind and body. One of the best 
modes of improving in the art of thinking is to think 
over some subject before you read upon it, and then to 
observe after what manner it has occurred to the mind of 
some great master ; you will then observe whether you 
have been too rash or too timid, in what you have ex- 
ceeded, and by this process you will insensibly catch a 
great manner of viewing questions. It is right to study, 
not only to think, but from time to time to review what 
has passed ; to dwell upon it, and see what trains of 
thought voluntarily present themselves to your mind. It 
is a most superior habit of some minds to refer the par- 
ticular truths that strike them to other truths more gen- 
eral; so that their knowledge is beautifully methodized, 
and that the general truth at any time suggests the par- 
ticular exemplifications, or any particular exemplification 
at once leads to the general truth. This kind of an un- 
dertaking has an immense and a decided superiority over 
those confused heads in which one fact is piled upon an- 
other without the least attempt at classification and 
arrangement. 

Perhaps few persons are aware how much a habit of 
thought creates a power of thought. Thought engen- 
ders thought. Place one idea upon paper, another will 
follow, and still another, until you have written a page. 
You cannot fathom your mind. There is a well of 
thought there which has no bottom. The more you draw 
from it, the more clear and fruitful it will be. If you 
neglect to think yourself, and use other people's thoughts, 
giving them utterance only, you will never know what 
you are capable of. At first your ideas may come in 
lumps — homely and shapeless — but no matter; time and 
perseverance will polish them. Learn to think and you 
will learn to write ; the more you think the better you 
will be enabled to express your ideas. 

Speaking without thinking is shooting without taking 
aim. A thinker very truly says that he who cannot 
clearly express a thought cannot think one, for thoughts, 
like Minerva, are born with their clothes on. Some 
persons complain that they cannot find words for their 



516 THOUGHT. 

thoughts, when the real trouble is they cannot find 
thoughts for their words. The man who thinks labori- 
ously will express himself concisely. It is only by labor 
that thought can be made healthy, and only by thought 
that labor can be made happy. It is not depth of thought 
which makes obscure to others the work of a thinker ; 
real and offensive obscurity comes merely of inadequate 
thought embodied in inadequate language. What is 
clearly comprehended or conceived, when what is duly 
wrought and thought out, must find for itself and seize 
upon the clearest and fullest expression. That grave and 
deep matter should be treated with the fluency and 
facility proper to light and slight things, no one is foolish 
enough to desire ; but we may at least demand that what- 
ever of message a speaker may have for us be delivered 
without impediment of speech. A style that stammers 
and rambles and stumbles, that stagnates here, and there 
overflows into waste marsh, relieved only by thick patches 
of powdery bulrush, and such bright flowerage of barren 
blossoms as is bred of the fogs and the fens — such a style 
gives no warrant of depth or soundness in the matter 
thus arrayed and set forth. To be a good thinker, you 
must be a little abstemious in eating. The writer who 
gorges his stomach gives thin gruel to his readers. 

St. John, the biographer of Montaigne, says he made 
it, as it were, a business to think at his castle. He was 
ever on the look-out for ideas and images. A thought 
would suddenly strike him in the family part of his house, 
and he would often, not having his tablets at hand, hurry 
across the court and climb his tower, in order to set it 
down. Experience, however, had taught him that the 
thought might be lost on the way, whisked out of sight, 
by some sudden gust of sensation ; so he used to take 
care before setting out to tell it to his wife, his daughter, 
or anybody else who might happen to be at hand. Says 
Channing, one great and kindling thought, from a retired 
and obscure man, may live when thrones are fallen, and 
the memory of those who filled them is obliterated; and, 
like an undying fire, may illuminate and quicken all 
future generations. It is a terrible thought to remember 



MEMORY. 517 

that nothing can be forgotten. I have somewhere read 
that not an oath is uttered that does not continue to vi- 
brate through all time, in the wide-spreading current of 
sound, — not a prayer lisped that its record is not to be 
found stamped on the laws of nature by the indelible seal 
of the Almighty's will. Let no one imagine, as too many 
are apt to do, that it is a matter of indifference what 
thoughts he entertains in his heart. Most of our thoughts 
and actions may be minute, and unnoticed by ourselves 
and others, and yet their result is, character for eternity. 
Prof. Park tells us there are some things which it is allow- 
able to write, which had better not be printed; some 
things which one may speak in very private conversation, 
which he would not commit to paper; and some things 
which he may think of, which he would not utter to his 
most intimate friend; and finally, some things which it is 
a shame even to think of. 

The pleasantest things in the world are pleasant 
thoughts ; and the greatest art in life is to have as many 
of them as possible. 



MEMORY. 

Some one has said that of all the gifts with which a benefi- 
cent Providence has endowed man, the gift of memory is 
the noblest. Without it life would be a blank — a dreary 
void, an inextricable chaos, an unlettered page cast upon 
the vast ocean of uncertainty. 

Memory is too often accused of treachery and incon- 
stancy, when, if inquired into, the fault will be found to 
rest with ourselves. Although nature has wisely propor- 
tioned the strength and liberality of her gifts to the vari- 
ous intellects around, yet all have it in their power to 
improve it, by classing, analyzing and arranging the dif- 
ferent subjects which successively occupy their minds. 
By these means habits of thought and reflection are ac- 
quired, which will materially conduce to the invigorating 
of the understanding, the improvement ot the mind, and 
the strengthening and correction of the mental powers, 



518 MEMORY. 

or, to use an Eastern aphorism, "The weakest capacity, 
by aiming at excellence, will be above mediocrity; the 
strongest, by aiming at mediocrity, will fall short of it.' 1 

A quick and retentive memory, both of words and 
things, is an invaluable treasure and may be had by any 
one who will take the pains. Theodore Parker, when in 
the Divinity School, had a notion that his memory was 
defective and needed looking after, and he had an im- 
mense chronological chart hung up in his room and 
tasked himself to commit the contents — all the names and 
dates from Adam and the year one down through Nimrod, 
Ptolemy, Soter, Heliogabalus and the rest. Our verbal 
memory soonest fails us, unless we attend to it, and keep 
it in fresh order. A child will commit and recite ver- 
batim easier than an adult, and girls easier than boys. 
To keep the verbal memory fresh, it is capital exercise to 
study and acquire new languages, or commit and treasure 
up choice passages, making them a part of our mental 
wealth. Sir William Hamilton tells some huge v stories in 
his lectures on Memory. Ben. Jonson could not only 
repeat all he had ever written, but whole books he had 
read. Niebuhr in his youth was employed in one of the 
public offices of Denmark, where part of a book of ac- 
counts having been lost, he restored it from his recol- 
lection. 

The following examples of the marvels of memory 
would seem entirely incredible had they not been given to 
us upon the highest authority. Cyrus knew the name of 
each soldier in his army. It is also related of Themis- 
tocles that he could call by name every citizen of Athens, 
although the number amounted to 20,000. Mithridates, 
king of Pontus, knew all his 80,000 soldiers by their 
right names. Scipio knew all the inhabitants of Rome. 
Seneca complained of old age because he could not, as 
formerly, repeat 2,000 names in the order in which they 
were read to him ; and he stated that on one occasion, 
when at his studies, 200 unconnected verses having been 
recited by the different pupils of his preceptor, he re- 
peated them in a reversed order, proceeding from the 
last to the first. Lord Granville could repeat, from be- 



MEMORY. 519 

ginning to end, the New Testament in the original Greek. 
Cooke, the tragedian, is said to have committed to 
memory all the contents of a large daily newspaper. 
Racine could recite all the tragedies of Euripides. It is 
said that George III. never forgot a face he had once 
seen, nor a name he had ever heard. Mirandola would 
commit to memory the contents of a book by reading it 
three times, and could frequently repeat the words back- 
ward as well as forward. Thomas Cranmer committed to 
memory in three months, an entire translation of the 
Bible. Euler, the mathematician, could repeat the JEneid ; 
and Leibnitz, when an old man, could recite, the whole of 
Virgil, word for word. It is said that Bossuet could 
repeat not only the whole Bible, but all Homer, Virgil, 
and Horace, besides many other works. 

Mozart had a wonderful memory of musical sounds. 
When only fourteen years of age he went to Rome to 
assist in the solemnities of Holy Week. Immediately 
after his arrival he went to the Sistine Chapel to hear the 
famous Miserere of Allegri. Being aware that it was for- 
bidden to take or give a copy of this renowned piece of 
music, Mozart placed himself in a corner, and gave the 
strictest attention to the music, and on leaving the church 
noted down the entire piece. A few days afterward he 
heard it a second time, and following the music with his 
own copy in his hand, satisfied himself of the fidelity of 
his memory. The next day he sang the Miserere at a 
concert, accompanying himself on the harpsichord; and 
the performance produced such a sensation in Rome, that 
Pope Clement XIV. requested that this musical prodigy 
should be presented to him at once. 

The following instance illustrates the retentive memory 
of Sir Walter Scott. He and the poet Campbell had 
been enjoying a sail on the river. The poet took the 
opportunity to read aloud in manuscript his poem of 
Hohenlinden to the great delight of the novelist, who 
was particularly fond of heroic verse. Some days after, 
Campbell remarked to Sir Walter that he had . lost the 
manuscript of his poem, and could not recollect a word 
of it " I think I can assist you," said Scott, humorously ; 



520 THE MIND. 

"get your pen and I will dictate," and, to the profound 
astonishment of the bard of Hope, he repeated the entire 
poem verbatim. 

Edward Everett was accustomed to deliver his cele- 
brated orations on Washington, and on Webster, and 
others without the aid of any note whatsoever. This ex- 
traordinary power of memory enabled him to give to 
his great addresses all the exquisite finish which the most 
sedulous care in composition can bestow, while by long 
practice he" was enabled to impart quite an air of extem- 
poraneous effusion to the delivery of fervors a week, a 
month, or perhaps several years old. 

A good memory is a good thing, but we would not 
advise any of our young readers to depend on it. You 
must learn to think as well as to remember, and don't 
crowd your minds with all sorts of rubbish merely be- 
cause you can remember. Memory should be a store- 
house, not a lumber room. 

Memory is a precious, a golden key, opening to us 
life's richest treasures. It is often debated which is the 
most enjoyable, the anticipation of a pleasure or its reali- 
zation ; but the power of recalling, mellowed and hal- 
lowed by the lapse of time, is more potent than either. 
Memory is not so brilliant as Hope, but it is almost as 
beautiful, and a thousand times as true. 

Memory is the only paradise we are sure of always 
preserving. Even our first parents could not be driven 
out of it. The memory of good actions is the starlight 
of the soul. 

The man that forgets a good deal that has happened, 
has a better memory than he who remembers a great deal 
that never happened. 



THE MIND. 

Man is feeble of body ; his principal strength lies in 
his mind. Apart from his superior intellectual faculties, 
he would be one of the most helpless, forlorn, and 
wretched animals, upon the face of the earth. It is man, 



THE MIND. 521 

it is mind, it is intelligent spirit, that gives to this grand 
theatre of the material universe all its worth, all its glory. 

Chapin eloquently says that music, sculpture, poetry, 
painting — these are glorious works; but the soul that 
creates them is more glorious than they. The music 
shall die on the passing wind, the poem may be lost in 
the confusion of tongues, the marble will crumble, and 
the canvass will fade, while the soul shall be quenchless 
and strong, filled with a nobler melody, kindling with 
loftier themes, projecting images of unearthly beauty, 
and drinking from springs of imperishable life. 

A beautiful mind is like a precious and prolific seed— 
the mother of loveliness — the fountain of bliss — the 
produce of many treasured and inestimable flowers — no 
canker can deface, nor time destroy. Even should there 
be those of its lovely produce that pass away, yet the 
source is there — the seed remains to revive, to modify — 
to place again on our bosom, and near our hearts, in re- 
newed beauty — in the same deep interest and winning 
power as at first. We would gather it in as the richest 
possession — as the well spring of the purest, most abund- 
ant and enduring joys — as our support, our comfort, and 
the cherished object, worthy of our highest admiration; 
and we would cling to it, thanking God that it is immor- 
tal — living forever. 

The mind is like a glowing spark, which, when suf- 
fered to rest, is ever in danger of being smothered by 
the dross and ashes which life deposits. It must be kept 
constantly in motion, lest it perish in its youth. The 
quiet monotony which is so suitable to the body, as it 
becomes impelled by age, is fatal to the mind. 

Is not the mind of childhood the tenderest, holiest 
thing this side of Heaven ? Is it not to be approached 
with gentleness, with love — yes, with a heart-worship of 
the great God from whom, in almost angel innocence, it 
has proceeded? A creature undefiled by the taint of the 
world, unvexed by its injustice, unwearied by its hollow 
pleasures. A being fresh from the source of light, with 
something of its universal lustre. If childhood be this, 
how holy the duty to see that, in its onward growth, it 



522 THE MIND. 

shall be no other! To stand as a watcher at the temple, 
least any unclean thing should enter it. A straw will 
make an impression on the virgin snow. Let it remain 
a short time, and a horse's hoof can hardly penetrate it. 
So it is with the youthful mind. A trifling word may 
make an impression upon it, but after a few years the 
most powerful appeals may cease to influence it. Think 
of this, ye who have the training of the infant mind, and 
leave such an impression thereon as will be safe for it to 
carry amid the follies and temptations of the world. 

The mind ought to be apprenticed, as well as the limbs 
and muscles; the skillful intellect, as well as the cunning 
hand, enters into the stock-in-trade of the successful arti- 
san. Knowledge does not impair a man's ability to labor, 
but increases it. A man is none the less competent in 
any branch of industry for uniting with his activity, the 
skill and tact of a cultivated understanding or a disci- 
plined heart. So far from it, these qualities form the most 
active elements of his strength, and the surest pledges of 
his success. Knowledge cannot, indeed, supply the place 
of energy and strength. A good mind without the 
strong muscle would make a bad mechanic ; a replenished 
memory is no substitute for persevering industry. But 
the completest artisan is he who combines the two in 
best proportions, and who has the enlarged mind to 
enrich the energies of the strong and well-disciplined 
body. 

Lord Canarvon, in addressing the people of Birming- 
ham, used the following illustration: " Travelers tell us 
that in some of the Eastern seas, where those wonderful 
coral islands exist, the insect that forms the coral within 
the reefs, where they are under shelter of protecting 
rocks, out of the reach of wind and wave, work quicker, 
and their work is, apparently to the eye, sound and good. 
But on the other hand, those little workers who work 
outside those reefs in the foam and dash of the waves, are 
fortified and hardened, and their work is firmer and more 
enduring. And so I believe it is with men. The more 
their minds are braced up by conflict, by the necessity 
of forming opinions upon difficult subjects, the better 



THE MIND. 523 

they will be qualified to go through the hard wear and 
tear of the world, the better they will be able to hold 
their own in that conflict of opinion which, after all, it is 
man's duty to meet." 

Said Daniel Webster, u The Creator has so constituted 
the human intellect that it can grow only by its own 
action ; and by its own action and free will it will cer- 
tainly and necessarily grow. Every man must, therefore, 
educate himself. Costly apparatus and splendid cabinets 
have no magical power to make scholars. In all circum- 
stances, as a man is, under God, the maker of his own 
fortune, so is he the maker of his own mind. Strength 
of mind is exercise, not rest." 

The gifts of the mind are able to cover the defects of 
the body ; but the perfections of the body cannot hide 
the imperfections of the mind. Where the senses, and 
their perceptions, are vigorously employed, there the in- 
tellectual powers cease to act. Body and mind are har- 
nessed together for the journey of life. They will get 
along badly if the coachman, judgment, drives one faster 
than the other. 

The mind's vegetative power can not be idle. If it is 
not laid and planted in flowers, it will shoot up in nox- 
ious weeds. The mind, in its everlasting progress in the 
upward course of virtue, or downward course of vice, 
must ere long be infinitely happy or inconceivably mis- 
erable. Old age will prove a joyless and dreary season, 
if we arrive at it with an -unimproved, or a corrupted 
mind. Mental pleasures never cloy ; unlike those of the 
body, they increase by repetition, approved of by reflec- 
tion, and strengthened by enjoyment. It is the duty of 
every one, to cultivate the heart and mind. A cultivated 
mind and good heart will give an intellectual and even 
beautiful expression to the face. The health of the mind 
is more important than the health of the body. Anguish 
of mind has driven thousands to suicide ; anguish of 
body, none. 

The mind of the child has been called a sheet of white 
paper, but how often nurses and nursing maids are 
allowed to write all over with their pot-hooks and hangers. 



524 THE MIND. 

Daniel Webster never uttered a truer or grander 
thought than the following — couched, too, in that sturdy- 
Saxon he handled «o well: "If we work upon marble, 
it will perish. If we work upon brass, time will efface 
it. If we rear temples; they will crumble into dust. 
But if we work upon immortal minds — if we imbue 
them with high principles — with the just fear of God 
and of their fellow-men, — we engrave upon those tablets 
something which no time can efface, but which will 
brighten to all eternity." In this way we may all be 
artists; and even the most ordinary and unlearned, if he 
have but an earnest and loving heart, may produce a 
master-piece. The professor or lecturer may cut deep 
lines and fashion wondrous forms on the unwrought ma- 
terial before him. The teacher in the common school 
or the Sabbath school may, with the sunlight of truth, 
photograph upon the tender minds committed to his 
charge a thousand forms of holy beauty. The humblest, 
most quiet man may write upon his neighbor's heart 
good thoughts and kind words which will last forever. 
And such a monument will be a real immortality ; "more 
enduring than brass, and loftier than the regal majesty of 
the pyramids." Such a record, instead of growing dim 
with time, will grow deeper with eternity ; and will still 
be bold and legible, when the sculptures of Nineveh, 
which have outlasted the centuries, shall have all faded 
out, and the steel pictures of modern art shall be all for- 
gotten. ' And when the things which the dimness of time 
obscures shall be revealed by the light of eternity, the 
names of these unknown artists shall be found written, 
not on tables of bronze or stone, but on "the fleshy 
tables of the heart" and the unfading pages of the soul. 

The mind is like a trunk. If well packed, it holds 
almost everything; if ill-packed, next to nothing. Like 
the soil, it rises in value according to the nature and 
degree of its cultivation. It is always a sign of poverty 
of mind when men are ever aiming to appear great; for 
they who are really great never seem to know it. 

One good head is better than a great many hands. As 
any action or posture long continued will disfigure the 



THE MIND. 525 

limbs; so the mind likewise is crippled and contracted 
by perpetual attention to the same set of ideas. 

The mind has more room in it than most people think, 
if we would but furnish the apartments. It is but an ill- 
filled mind that is filled with other people's thoughts, 
He that has no resources of mind is more to be pitied 
than he who is in want of necessaries for the body ; and 
to be obliged to beg our daily happiness from others, 
bespeaks a more lamentable poverty than that of him 
who begs his daily bread. A purse without money is 
better than a head without brains; the first may be filled, 
but the other can't. A vacant mind is open to all sug- 
gestions, as the hollow mountain returns a response to all 
sounds. If we may be allowed to compare intellectual 
wealth to pecuniary, we may say, that, from a man's 
speaking, we can guess how much ready money he has; 
from his reading, what legacies have been left him ; and 
from his writing, how much he can sit down and draw 
for on his banker. Neither wealth nor birth, but mind 
only, should be the aristocracy of a free people. 

There is no sight in the eye, when the mind does not 
see. We all know that our intellectual perceptions 
greatly depend on our moral standpoint. We see those 
things which we are willing to see, and if there is any- 
thing in the heart which points in a particular direction 
we find it exceedingly difficult to prevent the intellectual 
from going in that direction too. 

It rarely happens that one artificial mind can succeed 
in forming another ; we seldom imitate what we do not 
love. A quiet mind, like other blessings, is more easily 
lost than gained. Little minds rejoice over the errors of 
men of genius, as the owl rejoices at an eclipse. Large 
minds, like large pictures, are seen best at a distance. 
The more mind we have, the more original men do we 
discover there are. Common people find no difference 
between men. A rabid mind continually struggles, a 
feeble one limps, but a great mind selects the surest points, 
and upon these it stands. The mind that is much ele- 
vated and insolent with prosperity, and cast down with 
adversity, is generally abject and base. A generous mind 



526 THE MIND. 

does not feel as belonging to itself alone, but to the 
whole human race. A mind full of piety and knowledge 
is always rich; it is a bank that never fails; it yields a 
perpetual dividend of happiness. In many minds, great 
powers of thinking slumber on through life, because they 
have never been startled by any incident calculated to 
take them out of the common routine of every day occur- 
rence. Strong minds are like the firm grained wood, 
which kindles slowly, but burns long. Some minds are 
like almond-trees; they have no foliage, and their 
thoughts, like the white blossoms, spring from bare and 
leafless branches. The minds of some people are like 
the pupil of the human eye, and contract themselves the 
more the stronger light there is shed upon them. 

It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to 
desire, and many things to fear. A strong mind is more 
easily impressed than a weak one ; you will not as readily 
convince a fool that you are a philosopher, as a philoso- 
pher that you are a fool. 

The same rule, that a disease well known is half cured, 
holds as true in the distempers of the mind as in the in- 
disposition of the body. We would rather a child's right 
shoulder should grow higher than his left, than that his 
mind should get the start of his body; for the former 
would only affect his symmetry, the latter is frequently a 
fatal symptom. Minds like Dr. Johnson's, acute, but mel- 
ancholy, resemble strong solvents, consuming the vessels 
that hold them. It is noticed that people who change 
their minds often never get a good one. An unculti- 
vated mind, like neglected ground, will soon be overrun 
with weeds. 

Beauty, as the flowering blossom, soon fades; but the 
divine excellency of the mind, like the medicinal virtues 
of the plant, remain in it when all those charms are with- 
ered. Personal attraction may for a time fascinate, daz- 
zle the eye. Beauty may please, but beauty alone never 
captivates. The lily droops, the rose withers, and beauty 
sooner or later must decay; but the charms of the mind 
are imperishable — they bud and bloom in youth, and con- 
tinue to flourish as long as life remains. These, and these 



THE MIND. 527 

alone, are the charms that must and will forever enchant. 
The mind may be overburdened; like the body, it is 
strengthened more by the warmth of exercise than of 
clothes. The most delicate and beautiful mind, like the 
most delicate flower, is the soonest blighted ; yet it is the 
source of the most exquisite happiness, as well as count- 
less evils, owing to its refined sensibilities. Nature has 
made two kinds of excellent minds; the one to produce 
beautiful thoughts and beautiful actions, the other to 
admire them. 

Mind may act upon mind, though bodies be far divided, 
for the life is the blood, but souls communicate unseen. 

The soul is always busy, and if it be not exercised 
about serious affairs, will spend its activity upon trifles. 

The soul needs a certain amount of intellectual enjoy- 
ment to give it strength adequate for the daily struggle 
in which it is involved. 

There is no sculptor like the mind. The man who 
thinks, reads, studies, meditates, has intelligence cut in 
his features, stamped on his brow, and gleaming in his 
eye. There is nothing that so refines, polishes, and en- 
nobles face and mein as the constant presence of great 
thoughts. The man who lives in the region of ideas, 
moonbeams though they be, become idealized. There 
are no arts, no gymnastics, no cosmetics, which can con- 
tribute a tithe so much to the dignity, the strength, the 
ennobling of man's looks as a great purpose, a high de- 
termination, a noble principle, an unquenchable enthu- 
siasm. But more powerful still than any of these, as a 
beautifier of the person, is the overmastering purpose and 
pervading disposition of kindness in the heart. Affec- 
tion is the organizing force in the human constitution. 
Woman is fairer than man, because she has more affection 
than man. Loveliness is the outside of love. Kindness, 
sweetness, good- will, a prevailing desire and determination 
to make others happy, make- the body a Temple of the 
Holy Ghost. The soul that is full of pure and generous 
affections fashions the features into its own angelic like- 
ness, as the rose by inherent impulse grows in grace and 
blossoms into loveliness which art cannot equal. There 



528 GENIUS, TALENT AND TACT. 

is nothing on earth which so quickly and so perfectly 
beautifies a face, transfigures a personality, refines, exalts, 
irradiates with heaven's own impress of loveliness as a 
pervading, prevailing kindness of heart. The angels are 
beautiful because they are good, and God is beauty be- 
cause He is love. 



GENIUS, TALENT AND TACT. 

The world always receives talent with open arms, but 
often does not know what to do with genius. 

Genius is that quality or character of the mind which 
is inventive, or generates; which gives to the world new 
ideas in science, art, literature, morals, or religion ; which 
recognizes no set rules or principles, but is a law unto 
itself, and rejoices in its own originality; which admitting 
of a direction, never follows the old beaten track, but 
strikes out for a new course; which has no fears of public 
opinion, nor leans upon public favor — always leads but 
never follows, which admits no truth unless convinced by 
experiment, reflection, or investigation, and never bows 
to the ipse dixit of any man, or society, or creed. 

Talent is that power or capacity of mind which reasons 
rapidly from cause to effect; which sees through a thing 
at a glance, and comprehends the rules and principles 
upon which it works ; which can take in knowledge with- 
out laborious mental study, and needs no labored illustra- 
tions to impress a principle or a fact no matter how ab- 
struse, hidden, complex, or intricate. Differing from 
genius by following rules and principles, but capable of 
comprehending the works of genius — imitating with ease, 
and thereby claiming a certain kind of originality, talent 
is the able, comprehensive agent ; while genius is the 
master director. 

Genius is rather inward, creative, and angelic ; talent, 
outward, practical, and worldly. Genius disdains and 
defies imitation; talent is often the result of universal 
imitation in respect to everything that may contribute to 
the desired excellence. Genius has quick and strong 



529 

sympathies, and is sometimes given to reverie and vision ; 
talent is cool and wise, and seldom loses sight of common 
sense. Genius is born for a particular purpose, in which 
it surpasses ; talent is versatile, and may make a respect- 
able figure at almost anything. 

Talent is full of thoughts; but genius full of thought. 
Genius makes its observations in short hand ; talent writes 
them out at length. Talent is a very common farnily- 
trait, genius belongs rather to individuals ; just as you 
lind one giant or one dwarf in a family, but rarely a 
whole brood of either. Men of genius are often dull 
and inert in society, as the blazing meteor when it de- 
scends to earth is only a stone. 

It is one of the mysteries of our life that genius, that 
noblest gift of God to man, is nourished by poverty. Its 
greatest works have been achieved by the sorrowing ones 
of the world in tears and despair. Not in the brilliant 
saloon, furnished with every comfort and elegance ; not 
in the library well fitted, softly carpeted, and looking out 
upon a smooth, green lawn, or a broad expanse of scenery; 
not in ease and competence — is genius born and nurtured ; 
more frequently in adversity, and destitution, amidst the 
harrassing cares of a straitened household, in bare and 
tireless garrets, with the noise of squalid children, in the 
midst of the turbulence of domestic contentions, and in 
the deep gloom of uncheered despair, is genius born and 
reared. This is its birth-place, and in scenes like these, 
unpropitious, repulsive, wretched, have men labored, 
studied and trained themselves, until they have at last 
emanated out of the gloom of that obscurity the shining 
lights of their times; become the companions of kings, 
the guides and teachers of their kind, and exercise an 
influence upon the thought of the world amounting to a 
species of intellectual legislation. 

Genius, says Irving, seems to delight in hatching its 
offspring in by-corners. The house where Shakspeare 
was born was a small, mean-looking edifice of wood and 
plaster, and, according to tradition, he was brought up to 
his father's craft of wool-combing. 

Columbus was the son of a weaver, and a weaver 

34 



530 GENIUS, TALENT AND TACT. 

himself. Oliver Cromwell was the son of a brewer. 
Howard an apprentice to a grocer. Benjamin Franklin, 
a journeyman printer. Claude Lorraine was bred up a 
pastry cook. Molliere was the son of a tapestry maker. 
Cervantes served as a common soldier. Homer was a 
beo-o-ar. Demosthenes was the son of a cutler. Terence 

GO 

was a slave. Daniel DeFoe was a hosier, and the son of 
a butcher. Whitefleld son of an inn-keeper. Sir Clou- 
desley Shovel, rear admiral of England, was an appren- 
tice to a shoemaker, and afterwards a cabin boy. Bishop 
Prideaux worked in the kitchen at Exeter College, Ox- 
ford. Cardinal Woolsey was the son of a butcher. Fer- 
guson was a shepherd. William Hogarth was but an 
apprentice to an engraver of pewter pots. Dr. Mountain, 
Bishop of Durham, was the son of a beggar. Virgil, son 
of a porter. Horace of a shop-keeper. 

There have been very popular writers who were appar- 
ently brought out by accident. They did not know what 
precious vein of thought they had at command, till they 
stumbled upon it as if by chance, like the Indian at the 
mines of Potosi. It is not much we know of Shakspeare, 
but it seems certain it was in patching up old plays for 
acting, that he discovered within himself a capacity for 
producing that which men will not easily let die. When 
a young military man, disheartened with the service, 
sought for an appointment as an Irish commissioner of 
excise, and was sadly disappointed because he did not 
get it, it is probable that he had as little idea as any one 
else had that he possessed that aptitude for the con- 
duct of a war which was to make him the Duke of Wel- 
lington. 

The faculty of genius is the power of lighting its own 
fire. Genius has its individuality ; it cannot exist with- 
out it. As each flower has its own fragrance, so is genius, 
expressive, distinct. Circumstances cannot control genius : 
it will wrestle with them; its powder will bend and break 
them to its path. This very audacity is divine. In every 
work of genius we recognize our own projected thoughts; 
they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. 
Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us 



531 

than this. Mediocrity can talk; but it is for genius to 
observe. 

The great and decisive test for genius is, that it calls 
forth power in the souls of others. It not merely gives 
knowledge but breathes energy. 

What Hume said of Jean Jacques Rosseau — that he 
was a thin-skinned man among furze bushes — is too true 
of most geniuses in their intercourse with men and 
society. 

What we want in natural abilities may generally and 
easily be made up in industry ; as a dwarf may keep pace 
with a giant, if, he will but move his legs a' little faster. 
"Mother!" said the Spartan boy going to battle, "my 
sword is too short." (Add a step to it,) was the reply. 

To excel others is a proof of talent; to know when to 
conceal superiority is a proof of prudence. 

A recent English writer gives the following amusing 
off-hand portraiture of tact and talent. The writer re- 
cognizes the just distinction between these two qualities. 
Tact in its highest manifestation we have considered only 
a little short of absolute genius. Talent is something, 
but tact everything. Talent is serious, grave and respect- 
able; tact is all that and more. It is not a sixth sense, 
but the life of all the five. It is the open eye, the quick 
ear, the judging taste, the keen smell, and the lively 
touch; it is the interpreter of all riddles — the surmounter 
of all difficulties — the remover of all obstacles. It is 
useful in all places and at all times ; it is useful in soli- 
tude, for it shows a man his way through the world. 
Talent is power — tact is skill ; talent is weight — tact is 
momentum; talent knows what to do — tact knows how 
to do it ; talent makes a man respectable — tact will make 
a man respected; talent is wealth — tact is ready money. 
For all practical purposes of life, tact carries it against 
talent — ten to one. Talent makes the world wonder that 
it gets on no faster — tact excites astonishment that it gets 
on so fast ; and the secret is that it has no weight to carry ; 
it makes no false steps — it hits the right nail on the head 
— it loses no time — it takes all hints — and by keeping 
its eye on the weather- cock, is ready to take advantage 



532 GENIUS, TALENT AND TACT. 

of every wind that blows. It has the air of common- 
place, and all the force and powers of genius. It can 
change sides with hey-presto movement and be at all 
points of the compass, while talent is ponderously and 
learnedly shifting a single point. Talent calculates clearly, 
reasons logically, makes out a case as clear as daylight, 
utters its oracles with all the weight of justice and reason. 
Tact refutes without contradicting, puzzles the profound 
with profundity, and without wit outwits the wise. Set- 
ting them together on a race for popularity, pen in hand, 
and tact will distance talent by half the course. Talent 
brings to market that which is wanted; tact produces 
that which is wished for. Talent instructs; tact enlight- 
ens. Talent leads where no man follows ; tact follows 
where humor leads. Talent is pleased that it ought to 
have succeeded; tact is delighted that it has succeeded. 
Talent toils for a posterity that will never repay it ; tact 
throws away no pains, but catches the passion of the pass- 
ing hour. Talent builds for eternity, tact on short lease, 
and gets good interest. Talent is certainly a very fine 
thing to talk about, a very good thing to be proud of, a 
very glorious eminence to look down from ; but tact is 
useful, portable, applicable, always marketable; it is the 
talent of talents, the availableness of resources, the ap- 
plicability of power, the eye of discrimination, the right 
hand of intellect. 

Hazlitt says, Genius rushes like a whirlwind — Talent 
marches like a cavalcade of heavy men and heavy horses 
— Cleverness skims like a swallow in the Summer evening, 
with a sharp shrill note, and a sudden turning. The man 
of genius dwells with men and with nature ; the man of 
talent in his study; but the clever man dances here, there 
and everywhere, like a butterfly in a hurricane, striking 
everything and enjoying nothing, but too light to be 
dashed to pieces. The man of talent will attack theories, 
the clever man will assail the individual, and slander pri- 
vate character. But the man of genius despises both ; 
he heeds none, he fears none, he lives in himself, shrouded 
in the consciousness of his own strength ; he interferes 
with none, and walks forth an example that "eagles fly 



533 

alone — the)' are but sheep that herd together. " It is true, 
that should a poisonous worm cross his path, he may 
tread it under his foot; should a cur snarl at him, he 
may chastise it ; but he will not, cannot, attack the pri- 
vacy of another. Clever men write verses, men of talent 
write p*ose, but the man of genius writes poetry. 

The drafts which true genius draw upon posterity, 
although they may not always be honored so soon as 
they are due, are sure to be paid with compound interest 
in the end. 

It would be a great comfort to men of genius, whether 
authors, artists, statesmen, or inventors, if they were to 
recognize this inevitable fact, namely, that the people 
who live nearest to them, and probably love them most, 
are less interested in their doings than any other persons. 
They know all about them, as they think. They have 
made up their mind about them, and they do not want 
books, or pictures, or statues, or speeches, or inventions, 
to tell them what sort of persons are their husbands, or 
fathers, or sisters, or intimate friends. Domestic famil- 
iarity has killed curiosity ; and curiosity has something 
to do with the interest with which we regard any new 
work of a worker who is not familiarly known to us. 

Do not lightly doubt your own genius, but have strong 
faith in your inspiration. 

Great powers and natural gifts do not bring privileges 
to their possessors, so much as they bring duties. A 
cotemporary, in dilating on genius, thus sagely renlarks: 
The talents granted to a single individual do not 
benefit himself alone, but are gifts to the world; every 
one shares them, for every one suffers or benefits by his 
actions. Genius is a light-house, meant to give light from 
afar ; the man who bears it is but the rock upon which 
the light-house is built. 

Hath God given you genius and learning? It was not 
that you might amuse or deck yourself with it, and 
kindle a blaze which should only serve to attract and 
dazzle the eyes of men. It was intended to be the means 
of leading both yourself and them to the Father of lights. 
And it will be your duty, according to the peculiar turn 



534 THE TONGUE. 

of that genius and capacity, either to endeavor to pro- 
mote and adorn human life, or, by a more direct applica- 
tion of it to divine subjects, to plead the cause of religion, 
to defend its truths, to enforce and recommend its 
practice, to deter men from courses which would be dis- 
honorable to God and fatal to themselves, and to try the 
utmost efforts of all the solemnity and tenderness with 
which you can clothe your addresses, to lead them into 
the paths of virtue and happiness. 



THE TONGUE. 

Xanthus, upon a certain occasion, designing to treat 
some of his friends, ordered iEsop to provide the best 
things they could find in the market, who therefore made 
a large provision of tongues, which he desired the cook 
to send up with different sauces. When dinner came, 
the first and second courses, the side dishes, and the 
removes were all tongues. "Did I not order you," said 
Xanthus, in a violent passion, " to buy the best victuals the 
market afforded? " "And have I not obeyed your orders," 
said iEsop. "Is there anything better than tongues? Is 
not the tongue the bond ot civil society, the key of 
sciences, and the organ of truth and reason ? By the 
means of the tongue cities are built, and governments 
established and administered — with that, men instruct, 
persuade, and preside in assemblies; it is the instrument 
with which we acquit ourselves of the chief of all our du- 
ties, the praising and adoring of the gods." " Well then," 
replied Xanthus, thinking to catch him, "go to the market 
again to-morrow, and buy the worst things you can find, 
this same company will dine with me, and I have a mind 
to diversify my entertainment." iEsop the next day pro- 
vided nothing but the same dishes; telling his master the 
tongue was the worst thing in the world. It is said to be 
the instrument of all strife and contention, the fomentor 
of lawsuits, and the cause of divisions and wars ; it is the 
organ of lies, of error, of calumny and blasphemy. 



THE TONGUE. 535 

Sweet and loving words bless every one. Truthful 
words carry goodness and benefits upon them. Generous 
words are richer gifts than silver or gold, and keep bright 
forever. Pitying words bear smiles and joy, and drive 
away tears. Prayerful words touch God's heart, and 
bring to us whatever we most need. All these the 
tongue can speak. And so, when it can speak both these 
and the many untrue and evil words, it is at once the best 
and the worst thing we know of. 

The tongue of kindness is full of pity, love and com- 
fort. It speaks a word of comfort to the desponding, a 
word of encouragement to the faint-hearted, of sympathy 
to the bereaved, of consolation to the dying. Urged on 
by a benevolent heart, it loves to cheer, console and in- 
vigorate the sons and daughters of sorrow. 

The tongue of discretion knows when to speak and 
when to be silent. It is not cowardly; it dares to say all 
that needs to be said. But it does not tell all that it 
knows. It is careful what it speaks, when it speaks and 
to whom it speaks. 

The tongue of knoivledge takes no pains in retailing 
small talk, scandalous reports or little penny -bit affairs 
of any kind. It prefers sense to nonsense. It aims to 
say something that may edify the hearer, though it is not 
ambitious to teach. To please, to enlighten, to do good, 
is its delight. 

The tongue of truth never stretches itself like India- 
rubber for the sake of a great story. It dreads all lies, 
white or black. It is content to tell what it knows, and 
no more. It loves truth for its own sake and for the sake 
of its glorious Author. Hence it never ornaments a 
story with the gaudy ribbons of fancy. Its motto is 
"Truth 1 ' — naked truth — nothing but truth! 

The tongue of humility does not "speak great swelling 
words" about astonishing exploits. It boasts not of its 
own great deeds. It has very little to say of its own 
merits, except now and then a word or two by way of 
self-defense. It takes a great deal more delight in 
praising others than itself. 

By examining the tongue of a patient, physicians find 



536 SPEECH. 

out the disease of the body — philosophers of the mind. 
It is better that the foot slip than the tongue. The 
tongue is like a wild beast, very difficult to be chained 
when once let loose. 

The tongue is like a race-horse, it runs faster the less 
weight it carries. 

The hardest thing to hold in this world is an unruly 
tongue. 

Never carry a sword in your tongue to wound the repu- 
tation of any man. 

Life and death are in the power of the tongue. 

A sanctified heart is better than a silver tongue. 



SPEECH. 

We must speak well, and act well. Brave actions are 
the substance of life, and good sayings the ornament of it. 

Let a good thing be well said. Expression is valuable 
as well as thought. 

A word once uttered can never be recalled. Words 
should drop from the lips as beautiful coins newly issued 
from the mint, — deeply and accurately impressed, per- 
fectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, 
sharp, in due succession, and of due weight. 

Studied figures and ornaments in speech are not always 
conformable to good sense ; they serve more to amuse 
than to instruct, and are often a burden to the speaker 
as well as the hearer. 

When you doubt between two words, choose the 
plainest, the commonest, the most idiomatic. Eschew the 
fine words, as you would rouge; love simple ones, as 
you would native roses on your cheeks. Act as you 
might be disposed to do on your estate; employ such 
words as have the largest families, keeping clear of found- 
lings and those of which nobody can tell whence they 
come, unless he happens to be a scholar. 

Big words are great favorites with people of small 
ideas and w^eak conceptions. They are sometimes em- 



SPEECH. 537 

ployed by men of mind, when they wish to use language 
that may best conceal their thoughts. With few excep- 
tions, however, illiterate and half educated persons use 
more "big words" than people of thorough education. 
It is a very common but very egregious mistake to sup- 
pose the long words are more genteel than short ones — 
just as the same sort of people imagine high colors and 
flashy figures improve the style of dress. They are the 
kind of folks who don't begin, but always "commence." 
They don't live, but "reside." They don't go to bed, 
but mysteriously "retire." They don't eat and drink, 
but "partake of refreshments." They are never sick, 
but "extremely indisposed." And instead of dying, at 
last, they "decease." The strength of the English lan- 
guage is in the short words — chiefly monosyllables of 
Saxon derivation ; and people who are in earnest seldom 
use any other. Love, hate, anger, grief, joy, express 
themselves in short words and direct sentences ; while cun- 
ning, falsehood and affectation delight in what Horace calls 
"verba sesquipedalia" — words a "foot and a half long." 

Prefer solid sense to wit ; never study to be diverting, 
without being useful ; let no jest intrude upon good 
manners, nor say anything that may offend modesty. 

Wisdom leads us to speak and act what is most proper; 
prudence prevents our speaking or acting improperly. 

Better say nothing, than not to the purpose ; and to 
speak pertinently, consider both what is fit and when it 
is fit to speak. 

" If wisdom's ways you wisely seek 

Five things observe with care : — 
Ot whom you speak — to whom you speak — 

And how — and when — and where." 

The greatest wisdom of speech, is to know when, what, 
and where to speak : the time, matter, and manner. The 
next is silence. 

There is a time when nothing, a time when something, 
but no time when all things are to be spoken. 

Speak always according to your conscience; but let it 
be in the terms of good nature, civility, and good 
manners. 



538 words. 

Bad words, like bad shillings, are often brought home 
to those who utter them. 

Wherever the speech is corrupted, the mind is. Indul- 
gence in verbal vice soon encourages corresponding vices 
in conduct. Let any one of you come to talk about any 
mean or vile practice with a familiar tone, and do you 
suppose, when the opportunity occurs for committing the 
mean or vile act, he will be as strong against it as before? 
It is by no means an unknown thing that men of correct 
lives talk themselves into crime, into sensuality, into per- 
dition. Bad language easily runs into bad deeds. Select 
any iniquity you please; suffer yourself to converse in its 
dialect, to use its slang, to speak in the character of one 
who approves or relishes it, and I need not tell you how 
soon your moral sense will lower down to its level. Be- 
coming intimate with it, you lose your horror of it. This 
obvious principle, of itself, furnishes a reason for watching 
the tongue. 



WORDS. 

Words are nice things, but they strike hard. We 
wield them so easily that we are apt to forget their hid- 
den power. Fitly spoken, they fall like the sunshine, the 
dew and the summer rain — but when unfitly, like the 
frost, the hail, and the desolating tempest. 

A casual word, mere sounding breath, how light its 
import seems! how " big with fate" it often proves! Not 
alone words that are the voice of daily thoughts, but 
words that are only the utterance of a transient emotion, 
forgotten as soon as felt; words that are but an idly- 
spoken impulse melt not away with the air that holds 
them, but assume mysterious shapes of good or evil to 
influence and haunt the hearer's life! These casual words 
are seeds, scattered perchance by liberal, perchance by 
thoughtless hands; though lightly, unpremeditately 
dropped, if they fall upon open, fertile soils, they strike 
vigorous roots — germinate in silence and darkness, and, 
before we know that they are planted, bring forth grapes 



words. 539 

or thistles. Blessed are they whose paths on earth may 
be tracked by the good seed sown in passing words! 

Kind words do not cost much. They never blister the 
tongue or lips, and we have never heard of any mental 
trouble arising therefrom. Be not stingy of kind words 
and pleasing acts, for such are fragrant gifts, whose per- 
fume will gladden the heart and sweeten the life of all 
who hear or receive them. The Scotch have this proverb : 
U A glide word is as soon said as an ill one." A good 
word for a bad one is worth much and costs little. 
Words fitly spoken are indeed both precious and beau- 
tiful — like apples of gold in pictures of silver. 

Words, thoughts, actions! They are all important, and 
every one of them tells upon our present life and future 
state. The effect of an action — a thought — a word, may 
not be immediately evident, it may never be discovered 
by us or other mortals, but it is there; it is in our lives, 
and it will continue to work upon our destiny for evil or 
good when our bodies shall lie mouldering beneath the 
sod. Like flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the 
earth, the seeming unimportant events of life succeed one 
another; and, as the snow gathers together — as the ava- 
lanche is formed, so are our habits established and our 
character determined. No single flake that is added to 
the drift produces a sensible change ; no single action 
creates, however it may exhibit, a man's character; but 
as the tempest hurls the avalanche down the mountain, 
and overwhelms inhabitants and habitations, so passion, 
acting upon the elements of mischief which pernicious 
habits have brought together, by imperceptible accumu- 
lations, may overthrow the principles of truth and virtue. 
How important is it, then, that we maintain the most 
sleepless guard upon our passions, and scrupulously weigh 
our every word, thought and action. 

There is as much connection between the words and 
the thoughts as there is between the thoughts and the 
actions. The latter are not only the expression of the 
former, but they have a power to react upon the soul. 
Be careful of your words as well as of your thoughts. A 
young man who allows himself to use one vulgar or pro- 



540 SIMPLICITY. 

fane word has not only shown that there is a foul spot 
upon his mind, but by the utterance of that word he ex- 
tends the spot and inflames it, till, by indulgence, it will 
pollute and ruin his soul. Be careful of your words as 
well as your thoughts. If you can control the tongue 
that no improper words are pronounced by it, you will 
soon be able, also, to control the mind, and save that 
from corruption. You extinguish the fire by smothering 
or by preventing bad thoughts bursting out in language. 
Never utter a word anywhere which you would be 
ashamed to speak in the presence of the most refined 
female or the most religious man. Try this practice a 
little while and you will soon have command of yourself. 
That which is not fit to be practiced, is not fit to be 
so much as mentioned. Vile and debauched expressions 
are the sure mark of an abject and grovelling mind, and 
the filthy overflowings of a vicious heart. Immodest 
words are in all cases indefensible. 

Immodest words admit of no defence, 
For want of modesty is a want of sense. 



SIMPLICITY. 

A servant in a family near Princeton used to attend a 
school-house meeting, where the students of the seminary 
preached. One day, upon returning, she told her mis- 
tress that a plain old man preached a sermon not near as 
deep as the productions of the students. She understood 
every word he said. On inquiry it was ascertained that 
the preacher, that day, was Dr. Alexander, the teacher 
of the young men. The late Judge Pease, of the Su- 
preme Court of Ohio, was a noted wag. A young lawyer 
was once making his first effort before him, and having 
thrown himself on the wings of imagination into the 
cloud-land, was preparing for a still higher ascent, when 
the Judge struck his ruler on the desk, and exclaimed to 
the astonished orator, "Hold on, hold on, my dear sir! 
don't go any higher; you are already out of the jurisdic- 



SIMPLICITY. 541 

tion of this court!" A story is told of a lady who was 
handling a pair of artificial plates in a dental office, and 
admiring the fluency with which the dentist described 
them, asked him, " Can a body eat with these things?" 
" My dear madam, mastication can be performed with the 
facility scarcely excelled by Nature herself," responded 
the dentist. "Yes, I know, but can a body eat with 
'em?" replied the woman. A learned theological pro- 
fessor was once engaged to address a Sunday school. He 
read a number of verses from the Bible, and then said, 
"Children, I intend to give you a summary of the truth 
taught in this portion of the Scriptures." Here the pastor 
touched him, and suggested that he had better explain 
to the school what "summary" meant. So he turned 
around, and said to the children, " your pastor wants me to 
explain what w summary ' means, and I will do so. Well, 
children, ' summary ' is an abbreviated synopsis of a thing." 
Use simple, familiar Anglo-Saxon words, in preference 
to those of Latin and French origin. The latter may 
seem finer and more high sounding, but the former are 
stronger and more expressive, and you will be able to 
set forth more clearly in them what you have to say. 
If your thought is a great one, simple words will befit 
it ; if it is trifling or common-place, your grand phrases 
will only make it seem ridiculous. Father, mother, 
brother, sister, home, . happiness, heaven ; sun, moon, 
stars, light, heat ; to sit, to stand, to go, to run, to stag- 
ger, are Anglo-Saxon words ; as are most of those used 
to express habitual actions, and designate persons and 
objects familiar and dear to us. Mark the strength, ex- 
pressiveness and majestic movements of the following 
lines from Byron's "Destruction of Sennacherib," in 
which nearly all the words are Anglo-Saxon : 

" For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts beat but once, and forever lay still ! " 

The French and Latin elements of our language, of 
course, have their place and use, and cannot be left out ; 
but the Anglo-Saxon should furnish the staple of our 
common writing and talk. 



SARCASM. 

Satire often proceeds less from ill-nature than from the 
desire of displaying wit. But the talent of turning men 
into ridicule, and exposing those we converse with, is 
the qualification of little, ungenerous tempers. The 
greatest blemishes are often found in the most shining 
characters. What an absurd thing it is to pass over all 
the valuable parts of a man, and fix our attention on his 
infirmities; to observe his imperfections more than his 
virtues ! 

I abhor the spirit of ridicule. I despise it, because it 
is the usual resource of the shallow and base mind ; and 
when wielded by the strongest hand with the purest in- 
tentions, an inefficient means of good. The spirit of 
satire, reversing the spirit of mercy, which is twice 
blessed, seems to me twice accursed; evil in those who 
indulge it — evil to those who are the objects of it. You 
can no more exercise your reason if you live in constant 
dread of ridicule, than you can enjoy life if you live in 
constant fear of death. 

Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders generally 
discover every body's face but their own, which is the 
chief reason for that kind of reception it meets in the 
world, and that so very few are offended with it. 

He that indulges himself in ridiculing the little imper- 
fections and weaknesses of his friends, will in time find 
mankind united against him. The man who sees another 
ridiculed before him, though he may, for the present, 
concur in the general laugh, yet in a cool hour, will con- 
sider the same trick might be played upon him. 

tI suppose we all begin by being too savage," says 
Thackeray in a letter to a friend. u I know one tuJio did" 
meaning himself. "As for Swift," he once wrote to his 
friend Mr. Hannay, u you haven't made me alter my 
opinion. I admire, or rather admit, his power as much 
as you do; but I don't admire that kind of power as 
much as I did fifteen years ago, or twenty, shall we say ? 
Love is a higher intellectual exercise than hatred ; and, 

542 



jests. 543 

when you get one or two more of those young ones you 
write so pleasantly about, you'll come over to the side of 
of the kind ways, I think, rather than the cruel ones." 

Carlyle, after emptying his quiver of more satirical 
arrows than any brother essayist, cooly says, "Sarcasm I 
now see to be, in general, the language of the devil; for 
which reason I have long since as good as renounced it." 

There is no weapon in the armory of Wit more effec- 
tive than repartee, and the French, from whom the word 
is borrowed, excel in the use of the missile. An anecdote 
in point occurs to us. Talleyrand had a crooked leg. 
Madame De Stael squinted. The two hated each other 
cordially, and meeting one day in an ante-room of the 
palace of Versailles, the following little passage at arms 
occurred between them: "Monsieur," said the lady in a 
tone of mock sympathy, "how is your poor leg this 
morning?" "Crooked — as you see, Madame," was the 
quiet reply. That was what might be called a palpable 
hit. It took the authoress of "Corinne" completely 
aback, and before she could frame a rejoinder Talleyrand 
had hobbled out of ear-shot. 

But repartee, indeed sarcasm of any kind, is an " edge 
tool " that cuts two ways. Its wounds, thoughtlessly in- 
flicted, are long remembered by the recipients and often 
to the great prejudice of those who deal them. Many 
men can more easily forgive a deliberate wrong than a 
smart personality, if it touches a tender point; and, there- 
fore, as it is never good policy to make an enemy for the 
sake of a joke, it is often better to let a brilliant oppor- 
tunity for repartee pass, than to risk the consequences of 
improving it. Smart sayings as well as cures, not unfre- 
quently "come home to roost." 

The chasm that divides friends — sarcasm. 



JESTS. 

Many are pleased with a jester but never esteem him. 
A merry fellow is the saddest fellow in the world. 



544 jests. 

Avoid those who take pleasure in exposing others to con- 
tempt by jeering, mocking, or mimicking. Keep off from 
such as from the heels of a horse that kicks all near him. 

There is nothing more disagreeable than continual 
jesting. By endeavoring to purchase the reputation of 
being pleasant, a man often loses the advantage of being 
thought wise; Many who are wits in jest are fools in 
earnest. He that makes himself the common jester of a 
company, has but just wit enough to be a fool. Wanton 
jests make fools laugh, and wise men frown. 

No injury makes so deep an impression in one's 
memory, as that which is done by a cutting, malicious 
jest; for let it be ever so good, yet it is always bad when 
it occasions enmity. A bitter jest is the poison of friend- 
ship. Thou canst not joke an enemy into a friend; but 
thou mayst a friend into an enemy. 

As a man should not construe that in earnest which is 
spoken in jest; so he should not speak that in jest which 
may be construed in earnest. Nothing is more ridiculous 
than to be serious about trifles, and to be trifling about 
serious matters. 

Sharp jests are blunted more by neglecting than by 
responding, except they be suddenly and wittily retorted. 
But it is no imputation to a man's wisdom to use a silent 
scorn. 

A jest told in a grave manner has the better effect ; but 
you extinguish the appetite of laughter in others, if you 
prevent them by your own. But be always careful how 
you jest. The richest jest of the season may be a very 
unseasonable one. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of 
him who hears it, never in the tongue of him who makes 
it. Yet we may always jest when we please if we are 
always careful to please when we jest. A pleasant jest 
in time of misfortune is courage to the heart, strength to 
the arm, and digestion to the stomach. 

Too much love of the ridiculous is the dry-rot of all 
that is high and noble in youth. Like a canker, it eats 
away the finest qualities of their nature ; and there is no 
limit to the sacrifices made to it. 

Old Thomas Fuller tells us of writers and speakers in 



jests. 545 

his day, two hundred years ago, who carefully cultivated 
solemnity of manner, and "for fear their orations should 
giggle, will not let them smile." Dr. Thomas Brown, of our 
day, intimates that writers are wanting in seriousness. He 
says: — "It is too much the way with all of us now-a-days 
to be forever joking." The Christian Register remarks: 
"It is said that the drawing up of the Declaration of In- 
dependence would have been committed to Benjamin 
Franklin if it had not been feared that he would ' put a 
joke into it.' " Nothing less than the martyrdom of Abra- 
ham Lincoln could have saved his memory in certain quar- 
ters from the taint of levity unbecoming his high position. 

Washington seldom indulged in a joke or a sarcasm, 
but when he did he always made a decided hit. During 
the debate on the establishment of the Federal army, a 
member of Congress offered a resolution, limiting it to 
three thousand men ; to which Washington suggested an 
amendment, providing that no enemy should ever invade 
the country with more than two thousand men. The laughter 
which ensued smothered the resolution. 

The Arabs have a saying, "It is not good to jest with 
God, death, or the devil: for the first neither can nor 
will be mocked; the second mocks all men one time or 
another; and the third puts an eternal sarcasm on those 
who are too familiar with him." 

It is of great importance that we should resist the 
temptation, frequently so strong, of annexing a familiar, 
facetious, or irreverent idea to a Scriptural expression, a 
Scripture text, or a Scripture name. Nor should we 
hold ourselves guiltless, though we may have been misled 
by mere negligence, or want of reflection. Every person 
of good taste will avoid reading a parody, or a travestie 
of a beautiful poem, because the recollection of the de- 
graded likeness will always obtrude itself upon our 
memories when we wish to derive pleasure from the con- 
templation of the elegance of the original. But how 
much more urgent is the duty by which we are bound to 
keep the pages of the Bible clear of any impression tend- 
ing to diminish the blessings of habitual respect and rev- 
erence towards our Maker's law. 

35 



LOQUACITY. 

A great talker is seldom a wise man. Weak men are 
generally most loquacious, thinking to make up that in 
number of words, which is wanting in weight. It is 
with narrow-souled people as with narrow-necked bottles 
— the less they have in them the more noise they make 
in pouring it out. 

He can never speak well that can never hold his 
tongue. It is one thing to speak much, and another to 
speak pertinently. Much talk and much judgment sel- 
dom go together; for talking and thinking are quite dif- 
ferent faculties; and there is commonly more depth 
where there is less noise. Boisterous people are like 
shavings, they make a great fire, but don't last long. 

As men of sense say a great deal in a few words, so 
the half-witted have a talent of talking much, but of say- 
ing nothing. Men are like wagons, they rattle most 
when there is nothing in them. The deepest waters are 
the most silent ; empty vessels make the greatest sound, 
and tinkling cymbals the most music. They who think 
least, commonly speak most. The smaller the calibre of 
the mind, the greater the bore of a perpetually open 
mouth. The less weight a race horse carries, the quicker 
he runs; and the same holds good with the human 
tongue ; the less weight the tongue carries the faster it 
runs. 

"Words are like leaves ; and where they most abound, 
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. 

He that talks all he knows, will talk more than he 
knows. Great talkers discharge too thick, to always 
take true aim. It is a great deal better to say less than 
half what you think, than to think only half what you say. 

A great talker will always speak, though nobody minds 
him; nor does he mind any body when they speak to 
him. A talkative fellow wishing to learn of Isocrates, 
he asked double price: because, said he, I must both 
teach him to speak, and hold his tongue. Zeno, hearing 

546 



BREVITY. 547 

a young man speak too freely, told him, for this reason 
we have two ears, and but one tongue, that we should 
hear much, and speak little. Garrulous people are always 
superficial. 

If you think twice before you speak once, you will 
speak twice as well for it. Speak little and to the pur- 
pose, and you will pass for somebody. The man who 
does most has the least time to talk about it. Some can- 
not be too dumb; an utterly unthinking person should 
say only what he thinks. 

Says Kossuth, "I beg you to take to heart one maxim, 
which for myself I have ever observed, and ever shall — 
it is, never to say more than is necessary. The unspoken 
word never does harm ; what is once uttered can never 
be recalled, and no man can forsee its consequences.'' 



BREVITY. 

Talk to the point, and stop when you have reached it. 
The quality some possess of making one idea cover a 
quire of paper, is not good for much. Be comprehensive 
in all you have to say or write. To fill a volume upon 
nothing is a credit to nobody; though Lord Chesterfield 
wrote a very clever poem upon Nothing. 

There are men who get one idea into their heads, and 
but one, and they make the most of it. You can see it, 
and almost feel it when in their presence. On all occa- 
sions it is produced till it is worn as thin as charity. 
Short letters, sermons, speeches, and paragraphs, are favor- 
ites with us. Commend us to the young man who wrote 
to his father — "Dear Sir, I am going to be married;" and 
also to the old gentleman, who replied, "Dear son, go 
ahead." Such are the men for action. They do more 
than they say. The half is not told in their cases. They 
are worth their weight in gold for every purpose in life. 

When a man has no design but to speak the truth, he 
may say a great deal in a very narrow compass. If you 
would be pungent, be brief, for it is with words as with 



548 BREVITY. 

sun-beams — the more they are condensed, the deeper 
they burn. Every body has heard of the famous letters 
that passed between the adverse chiefs of Tir Connell and 
Tyrone, the most laconic correspondence in history: — 

" Pay me niy tribute, or if vou don't— 

V Connell" 

"I owe you no tribute, and if I did— 

QNiel." 

• 

One of the finest specimens of laconic speech on record 
is that of Rochejacquelin — "If I advance, follow me; if I 
fall, avenge me; if I flinch, kill me." The speech of the 
ancient Grecians was usually short, and very significant; 
when Philip, king of Macedonia, sent a threatening letter, 
that if he entered into Laconia, he would overthrow 
them: they wrote back to them only this word, If. 

The value of things is not in their size ; and so of 
reason, which, wrapped in a few words has the greater 
weight. Press your thoughts, pack them, bring every- 
thing to a focus. Give the pith, the cream, the marrow, 
the essence, the fire. Avoid prefaces, circumlocutions, 
say what you have to say — and stop, stop! A tremen- 
dous thought may be packed into small compass — made 
as solid as a cannon ball, and alike projectile, and cut 
all down before it. Short articles are generally more 
effective, find more readers, and are more widely copied 
than long ones. Pack your thoughts closely together, 
and though your articles may be brief, it will have 
more weight and will be more likely to make an im- 
pression. Ye who write for this busy age, speak quick ; 
use short sentences; never stop the reader with a long 
or an ambiguous word; but let the stream of thought 
flow right on, and men will drink it like water. 

It is said of the three most influential members of 
the Convention that formed the Constitution of the 
United States, that, in all the debates of that body, 
no one of them made a speech of more than twenty 
minutes. We have good authority for stating that 
Alexander Hamilton, though reckoned among the more 
diffuse orators of his day, did not occupy more than 
two hours and a half in his longest argument on the 
trial of a cause, and his rival, Aaron Burr, not more than 



BREVITY. 549 

an hour and a quarter. A judge who was intimately 
acquainted with Burr and his practice, confirmed this 
statement, adding that within his knowledge this advo- 
cate repeatedly and successfully disposed of cases involv- 
ing a large amount of property in half an hour. " Indeed," 
said he, u on one occasion he talked to the jury seven min- 
utes in such a manner, that it took me, on the bench, 
half an hour to straighten them out." He added, "I 
once asked him, ' Col. Burr, why cannot lawyers always 
save the time and spare the patience of the court and the 
jury by dwelling only on the important points in their 
cases ? ' to which Burr replied, ' Sir, you demand the 
greatest faculty of the human mind, selection.'" He is 
well known to have been one of the most effective advo- 
cates in his time, and in this matter, if nothing else, he 
deserves to be studied and imitated. We refer to a single 
foreign example, an eminent English barrister. " I asked 
Sir James Scarlett," says Buxton, "what was the secret 
of his pre-eminent success as an advocate. He replied 
that he took care to press home the one principal point 
of the case, without much regard to the others. He also 
said that he knew the secret of being short. 'I find,' 
said he, ' that when I exceed half an hour, I am always 
doing mischief to my client. If I drive into the heads 
of the jury important matter, I drive out matter more 
important that I had previously lodged there.'" We 
commend his method, and his reason for it, not only to 
ministers, but quite as urgently to lawyers and members 
of Congress. Will not some of those third and fourth- 
rate speakers of any sort, who, in these days plume them- 
selves on a speech of three or even six hours, be obliging 
enough to "inwardly digest" this? 

We give one more example of brevity: "A lady on one 
occasion entered Abernethy's consulting-room, and put 
before him an injured finger, without saying a word. In 
silence Abernethy dressed the wound, when instantly 
and silently the lady put the usual fee on the table, and 
retired. In a few days she called again, and offered the 
finger for inspection. 'Better?' asked the surgeon. 
'Better ! ' answered the lady, speaking to him for the first 



550 SILENCE. 

time. Not another word followed during the rest of the 
interview. Three or four similar visits were made, at the 
last of which the patient held out her finger free from 
bandages and perfectly healed. ' Well? ' was Abernethy's 
monosylabic inquiry. l Well ! ' was the lady's equally 
brief answer. ' Upon my soul, madam,' exclaimed the 
delighted surgeon, ' you are the most rational woman I 
ever met with ! ' " 



SILENCE. 

Says the Greek proverb, "speech is silver, silence is 
gold." It is a remarkable and very instructive fact, that 
many of the most important operations of nature are 
carried on in .unbroken silence. There is no rushing 
sound when the broad tide of sunlight breaks on a dark 
world and floods it with glory, as one bright wave after 
another falls from the mountain, millions of miles away. 
There is no creaking of heavy axles or groaning of cum- 
brous machinery, as the solid earth wheels on its way, 
and every planet and system performs its revolutions. 
The great trees bring forth their boughs and shelter the 
earth beneath them — the plants cover themselves with 
buds, and the buds burst into flowers, but the whole trans- 
formation is unheard. The change from snow and winter 
winds to the blossoms and fruits and sunshine of summer, 
is seen in its slow development, but there is scarcely a 
sound to tell of the mighty transformation. The solemn 
chant of the ocean, as it raises its unchanged and unceas- 
ing voice, the roar of the hurricane, and the soft notes of 
the breeze, the rushing of the mountain river, and the 
thunder of the black-browed storm ; all this is the music 
of nature — a great and swelling anthem of praise, break- 
ing on the universal calm. There is a lesson for us here. 
The mightiest worker in the universe is the most unob- 
trusive. 

The deepest waters move most silently ; the hottest 
fires have the smallest flames ; and the swiftest spheres 
that have the swiftest motion, move without noise. 



SILENCE. 551 

The grandest operations, both in nature and in grace, 
are the most silent and imperceptible. The greatest 
changes in the face of nature, and in the condition of man- 
kind, often take place the most imperceptible and quietly. 
In our best moods God's works command us to silence. 
The mountain awes us by its majestic presence. On the 
shores of the sea, we commune silently with its greatness. 
In the pathless woods, the rustle of the leaves only makes 
us feel alone with God. A beautiful landscape, like a paint- 
ing, must be gazed at in silence, in order to appreciate 
the beauty and greatness of the infinite Artist. The 
same effect is produced by the presence of great men, in 
genius, in learning in holiness. A man of silent power, 
who tells us not all he thinks and feels, attracts us 
himself. The Bible is a power, partly because of its 
silence on points upon which human curiosity would 
gladly have it speak. Heaven and hell have more power 
over us because we know not all their bliss and woe. 
Not the least impressive scenes of Christ before his ene- 
mies were those when he answered, them not a word. 
Perhaps no period in the history of heaven will exceed 
in interest the thirty minutes 1 silence, when the angels 
folded their wings, the harps are still, the songs cease, 
and the hum of children dies away. In the depths of 
the sea the waters are still; the heaviest grief is that 
borne in silence ; the deepest love flows through the 
eye and touch; the purest joy is unspeakable; the most 
impressive prayer is silent prayer; and the most 
solemn preacher at a funeral is the silent one, whose lips 
are cold. 

It is a great art in the Christian life to learn to be 
silent. Under oppositions, rebukes, injuries, still be 
silent. It is better to say nothing, than to say it in an 
excited or angry manner, even if the occasion should 
seem to justify a degree of anger. 

It is often easier to do than to suffer the will of God. 
There is a pleasurable excitement in the employment of 
one's active powers in the service of Christ, a satisfaction 
in the consciousness of doing good. A little grace, with 
favoring Providence, may make a Christian hero ; while 



552 SILENCE. 

abounding errace alone will suffice to make a Christian 
martyr. 

Be still when persecuted or slandered. If unjustly ac- 
cused, you may regard every epithet of abuse as a badge 
of discipleship. Your divine Master and his apostles and 
witnesses were marked in the same way. Then, too, 
every lie has the seeds of death within it. Let it alone, 
it will die of itself. Opposition may look very formid- 
able; it may seem as "though the mountains were carried 
into the midst of the sea ; the waters whereof roar, and 
be troubled; the mountains shake with the swelling 
thereof;" but the voice of wisdom cries, "Be still, and 
know that I am God." 

Be still when thiuarted in your plans and disappointed 
in your hopes. You are not responsible for results. If 
you have sought trustworthy ends by lawful means, and 
have done your utmost to attain them, the issue is of Di- 
vine ordering, and should be no more the subject of 
murmuring or repining than the changes of the seasons 
or the rolling of the spheres. The purpose of God in 
your loss or disappointment may not be obvious. You 
may have to content yourself with the thought, "These 
are but parts of his ways." But the fact that they are 
his ways 1 must hush the soul in quietude under the most 
trying and mysterious crosses of life. Faith will take 
Cowper's song : 

"Behind a frowning Providence, 
He hides a smiling face." 

Be still under sore afflictions. They are all deserved. 
They are all ordered of God. They are embraced among 
the "all things" that shall work together for good to 
them who love God. Murmuring does not lessen, but 
rather increases the burden of griefs. Submitted to — 
acquiesced in — sanctified — every sorrow may distil new 
joys ; every affliction may work out " a far more exceed- 
ing and eternal weight of glory." Many a saint has 
never experienced the infinite preciousness of the Gospel, 
till the rod of God is upon him. It is when in the vale, 
with eyes uplifted and the mouth closed — "I was dumb" 
— that the stars of promise glisten in the spiritual vision 



SILENCE. 553 

and the Sun of righteousness darts his rays of comfort 
and holy joy on the stricken soul. 

It requires but little observation to show that if speech 
is human, silence is divine. The weaker the intellect the 
more babbling and immediate the talk. It is as the mind 
matures that the tongue hesitates to speak — and God, 
who is the consummation of wisdom, is also the consum- 
mation of patience. He keeps silence lor years under 
provocations whose immensity we cannot tell, for we can 
never draw a comparison between man's littleness and 
God's greatness. If we could acquire a little of this 
grandest of qualities, silence, how could we add dignity 
to our profession! — The rule of the stoic in this respect 
ought to be the rule of the Christian, but with this differ- 
ence in result, that stoical silence freezes by its selfishness, 
where Christian silence melts by its love. 

The art of silence, if it be not one of the fine, is cer- 
tainly one of the useful arts. It is an art attained by 
few. How seldom do we meet with a man who speaks 
only when he ought to speak, and says only what he 
ought to say ! That the Bible enjoins its attainment is 
most manifest. It commands us to make a door and a 
bar for the mouth. * It declares that if a man bridleth not 
his tongue, his religion is vain. The attainment of this 
art will enable us to avoid saying foolish things. We 
often speak without reflection, and of consequence foolish 
thoughts, or expressions destitute of thought are uttered. 
Possessed of the art of silence, we shall not speak that 
which ought not to be spoken. Again it will enable us' 
to avoid saying hurtful things. Since we are placed in 
the world to do good, and since the endowment of speech 
is one of our greatest means of influence, it is most un- 
seemly for us to utter that which shall do injury. He 
whose business it is to root out the tares, should not 
scatter their seed. It will enable us to govern our feel- 
ings and direct our trains of thought. He who gives ex- 
pression to his feelings increases their strength. He 
who gives expression to anger, for example, increases its 
power over him. He who gives utterance to improper 
thoughts, will increase their number. It will increase 



554 SILENCE. 

our influence with our fellow-men. "A fool uttereth all 
his mind, but a wise man keepeth it until afterwards." 
Gravity and reserve are associated with wisdom. Even 
an affected gravity is sometimes effective, — the true art 
of silence, ever. We can be useful only as we are influ- 
ential. Finally, it will enable us to follow the example 
of Christ. He was ever affable and ready to communi- 
cate instruction, but no useless utterances escaped his 
lips. Let us labor to attain this art, that our speech may 
always be with grace. 

What a strange power there is in silence! How many 
resolutions are formed — how many sublime conquests are 
effected during that pause when the lips are closed', and 
the soul secretly feels the eye of its Maker upon it ! 
When some of those cutting, sharp, blighting words have 
been spoken which send the hot indignant blood to the 
face and head, if those to whom they are addressed keep 
silence, look on with awe ; for a mighty work is going on 
within them, and the spirit of evil, or their guardian 
angel, is very near them in that hour. During that pause 
they have made a step towards heaven or hell ; an item 
has been scored in the book which the day of judgment 
shall see opened. They are strong ones of earth, the 
mighty for good or evil, those who know how to keep 
silence when it is a pain and grief to them ; those who 
give time to their own souls to wax strong against temp- 
tation, or to the powers of wrath to stamp upon them 
their withering passage. 

There are three kinds of silence; the silence of peace 
and joy, the silence of submission and resignation, and 
the silence of desolation and despair. Lovely are they 
whose delight is in the first; and most wretched and 
miserable are those who are driven to the last. 

A good word is an easy obligation, but not to speak ill 
requires only silence, which costs us nothing. He that 
knows not when to be silent, knows not when to speak. 
Listen, if you would learn; be silent if you would be 
safe. Silence is the safest response for all the contra- 
diction that arises from impertinence, vulgarity, or envy. 

One of the best ways for people to contribute to the 



SILENCE. 555 

peace of the world is to hold theirs. Many have suffered 
by talking, but few by silence. Confine your tongue, 
lest it confine you. A word unspoken is like the sword 
in the scabbard — thine; if vented, thy sword is in 
another's hand. 

Says Demosthones, "A wise man speaks but sparingly." 
There is brevity and abrupt precision in Dante. One 
smiting word, and then there is silence — nothing more 
said. His silence is more elequent than words. Solomon 
says, "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth 
his soul from troubles." 

Says Gracian, "To be reserved in speaking, is the seal 
of the capacity." Silence is sometimes more significant 
than the most noble and most expressive eloquence, and 
is on many occasions the indication of a great mind. 

Says Sir Walter Raleigh, "No one can take less pains 
than to hold his tongue." Hear much, and speak little; 
for the tongue is the instrument of the greatest good and 
the greatest evil, that is done in the world. A prudent 
man desires as much to inform himself, as to instruct 
others. 

In the company of strangers, silence is safe. Silence 
is the protection of the ignorant. Silence is wisdom, 
and gets a man friends. 

Those men talk most who are in the greatest mental 
darkness — frogs cease their croaking when a light is 
brought to the water-side. The chameleon, who is said 
to feed upon nothing but air, has of all animals the nim- 
blest tongue. 

Men should remember that sometimes the greatest 
sound has the less sense; as, though four is more than 
three, a third is more than a fourth. Many men are very 
entertaining at a first interview, but then they are ex- 
hausted; at a second meeting we find them flat and mo- 
notonous. Like hand-organs we have heard all their 
tunes, and, unlike those instruments, they are not readily 
new-barreled. 

Wear your learning like your watch, in a private 
pocket, and don't pull it out to show that you have one ; 
but if you are asked what o'clock it is, tell it. 



556 SOLITUDE. 

Talkative men seldom read. This is among the few 
truths which appear the more strange the more we reflect 
upon them. For what is reading but silent conversation ? 

Loquacious mouths are like badly-managed banks. 
They make large issues on no solid capital. Talkers may 
sow, but the silent reap. 

Men are born with two eyes, but with one tongue, in 
order that they should see twice as much as they say. 
The same is also applicable to women and boys. If itch- 
ing ears are bad, itching tongues are worse. 

It is never more difficult to speak well than when we 
are getting ashamed of our silence. 

Some say that hurt never comes by silence; but they 
may as well say that good never comes by speech; for 
where it is good to speak it is harm to be silent. 

The ear and the eye are the mind's receivers, but the 
tongue is only busy in expending the treasure received. 
If, therefore, the revenues of the mind be uttered as fast 
or faster than they are received, it must needs be bare, 
and can never lay up for purchase. But if the receivers 
take in still without utterance, the mind may soon grow 
a burden to itself, and unprofitable to others. I will not 
lay up too much and utter nothing, lest I be covetous; 
nor spend much and store up little, lest I be prodigal 
and poor. 

The silence of a person who loves to praise is a cen- 
sure sufficiently severe. 



SOLITUDE. 

It is interesting to notice, in the Scripture biographies, 
what part solitude has in the formation of character. 
Abraham goes forth from his home and dwells in a strange 
land, a pilgrim and a sojourner. Thus his faith grew by 
living alone with God and he became the father of all 
them that believe. Jacob pursues a lonely journey on 
foot, and sleeps in the field all night; heaven is opened 
to him, and he vows a vow which, with the vision, decides 



SOLITUDE. 557 

his whole future life. Moses is a shepherd; he leads his 
flock to the backside of the desert, and there he comes 
to Horeb, and sees the burning bush, and by his solitary 
meditations and communions with God, is prepared for 
his eventful work. Elijah was the son of the desert. 
David had great experience of caves, and dens, and holes 
in the rock. David's son, and David's Lord must be 
driven into the wilderness, and be with the wild beasts 
before he can preach. Four, at least, of the apostles 
were taken from the solitary and contemplative employ- 
ment of fishers ; and John the Baptist lived in the wilds 
of Judea, on the locust and wild honey, covered only 
with the shaggy cloth of camel's hair, so different from 
any fabric known to us by that name, his waist girded by 
no belt from Tyre, or scarf from Persia, but with a leath- 
ern thong. There, in those wilds, from the commence- 
ment of his youth till near the age of thirty, his parents, 
who were well stricken in years before he was born, being 
in all probability dead, he lived apart from the busy 
paths of men, not perhaps, as a hermit, for there were 
scattered dwellings in the wilderness. He was, however, 
conversant with the rough face of nature, in her tangled 
thickets, dark, pathless woods, overhanging cliffs, swollen 
streams, diversified, all with spring tide beauty, and sum- 
mer's glory, and autumn's melancholy, and winter's rage; 
his courage nurtured by darkness and storms, perhaps by 
conflicts with wild beasts, and by solemn awe with which 
solitude and stillness sometimes oppress even the bravest 
spirit. 

A certain degree of solitude seems necessary to the 
full growth and spread of the highest mind; and, there- 
fore, must a very extensive intercourse with men stifle 
many a holy germ, and scare away "the gods," who shun 
the ruthless tumult of noisy companies and the discussion 
of petty interests. 

Unthinking heads, who have not learned to be alone, 
are in a prison to themselves, if they are not also with 
others; whereas, on the contrary, those whose thoughts 
are in a fair and hurry within, are sometimes fain to retire 
into company to be out of a crowd themselves. He 



558 SOLITUDE. 

who must needs have company, must sometimes have 
bad company. Be able to be alone ; lose not the advan- 
tage of solitude and the society of thyself, nor be only 
content, but delight to be alone and single with Omnip- 
otency. Unto him who is thus prepared, the day is not 
uneasy, nor the night black. Darkness may bound his 
eyes, not his imagination. In his bed he may lie, like 
Pompey and his sons, in all quarters of the earth; may 
speculate the universe, and enjoy the whole world in the 
hermitage of himself. 

Solitude is the despair of fools, the torment of the 
wicked, and the joy of the good. It is alike pandemonium, 
purgatory, and paradise — according to the soul that 
enters it. 

As in the silence of the night, the ear catches the least 
sound; so, in the solitude of reflection, the mind detects 
soft and delicate strains of thought, unheard in the bustle 
of a crowd. 

Solitude is necessary in the moments when grief is 
strongest and thought most troubled. 

Conversation enriches the understanding, but solitude 
is the school of genius. The world makes us talkers, but 
solitude makes us thinkers. Solitude shows us what we 
should be ; society shows us what we are. 

Solitude is one of the highest enjoyments of which our 
nature is susceptible. Solitude is also, when too long 
continued, capable of being made the most severe, inde- 
scribable, unendurable source of anguish. 

If a man shuts himself up from society because he is 
afraid that its contact will contaminate him, society loses 
nothing by his withdrawal. 

A man should neither be a hermit nor a buffoon; hu- 
man nature is not so miserable, as that we should be 
always melancholy; nor so happy, as that we should be 
always merry. In a word, a man should not live as if 
there was no God in the world ; nor, at the same time, 
as if there were no men in it. 



A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 

That writer does the most, who gives his readers the 
most knowledge, and takes from him the least time. Sid- 
ney Smith once remarked, "After you have written an 
article, take your pen and strike out half of the words, 
and you will be surprised to see how much stronger it is." 
In literature, our taste will be discovered by that which 
we give, and our judgment by that which we withhold. 
If you wish an idea to expand, do not let the whole pro- 
cess take place in your own writing or conversation; 
leave part of it for the mind of your hearer or reader. 

There is nothing so fascinating as simplicity and earn- 
estness. A writer who has an object and goes right on 
to accomplish it, will compel the attention of his readers. 
Montaigne, the celebrated French essayist, whose clear 
style, as well as vigor of thought, has been the praise of 
good critics the world over, made his boast that he never 
used a word that could not be readily understood by any- 
body in the Paris markets. Plain words are e\ r er the 
best. Says Fitz Greene Halleck: "A letter fell into my 
hands which a Scotch servant girl had written to her 
lover. Its style charmed me. It was fairly inimitable ; 
I wondered how, in her circumstances in life, she could 
have acquired so elegant and perfect a style. I showed 
the letter to some of my literary friends in New York, 
and they unanimously agreed that it was a model of 
beauty and elegance. I then determined to solve the 
mystery, and I went to the house where she was employed, 
and asked her how it was that in her simple circum- 
stances in life she had acquired a style so beautiful that 
the most cultivated minds could but admire it." "Sir," 
she said, "I came to this country four years ago. Then 
I did not know how to read or write. But since then I 
have learned how to read and write, but I have not 
learned how to spell ; so always, when I sit down to write 
a letter, I choose those words which are so short and 
simple that I am sure I know how to spell them." There 

559 



560 A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 

was the whole secret. The reply of this simple-minded 
Scotch girl condenses a world of rhetoric into a nut-shell. 
Simplicity is beauty. Simplicity is power. 

William Hazlitt said: " I hate everything that occupies 
more space than it is worth; ergo, I hate to see a load of 
bandboxes in the street, and I hate to see a parcel of big 
words without anything in them." Big words are great 
favorites with people of small ideas and weak concep- 
tions. They are also sometimes employed by men of 
mind, when they wish to use language that may best con- 
ceal their thoughts. With few exceptions, however, illit- 
erate and half-educated persons use more "big words" 
than people of thorough education. It is a very common, 
but very egregious mistake, to suppose the long words 
are more genteel than the short ones — just as the same 
sort of people imagine higher colors and flashy figures 
improve the style of dress. These are the kind of folks 
who don't begin, but always "commence." They don't 
go to bed, but mysteriously "retire." They don't eat and 
drink, but "partake of refreshments." They are never 
sick, but "extremely indisposed;" and instead of dying, 
at last, they "decease." The strength of the English 
language is in the short words — chiefly monosyllables of 
Saxon derivation ; and people who are in earnest seldom 
use any other. Love, hate, anger, grief, joy, express 
themselves in short words and direct sentences ; while 
cunning, falsehood, and affectation delight in what Horace 
calls "verba sesqutpedalia" — words "afoot and a half long." 

The literature in which bad spelling is a substitute for 
humor has greatly injured the language. In this, Thack- 
eray and Professor Lowell, both highly educated men, 
have much to answer for. It is possible to write in a 
familiar manner without running into vulgarity, and we 
should be glad to see our young writers aim at the per- 
spicuous expression, and eschew the abomination, so full 
of pretence of "fine writing" — for nothing is harder 
reading. A man cannot put his thoughts, if he have any, ■ 
into language too plain. Good writing, like good speak- 
ing, consists in simplicity and force of diction, and not 
in inflated, curiously balanced, or elaborately constructed 



A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 561 

sentences. The best writing is but a degree above the 
best conversation — and that, only because the writer has 
a little more time to select his words than the speaker has. 

All dimness, doubt, darkness, in the handling of a 
subject is an essential fault. An old writer has well said, 
"Better the grammarian should reprehend, than the 
people not understand. Pithy plainness is the beauty of 
speaking or writing. What good doth a golden key that 
opens not? "I have no objections to a lady's winding a 
sword with ribbons, and studding it with roses," said 
Robert Hall, "when she presents it to her hero lover; 
but in the day of battle he will tear away the ornaments, 
and use the naked edge to the enemy." 

It should never be forgotten that the sole use of words 
and sentences is to convey thought and impression. 
Hence words and sentences should not be seen. The 
highest art in the use of language is to conceal itself. 
The old maxim is in place: "ars est celare artem" — u art 
is in concealing art." The perfection of a window pane 
is in concealing itself; so that as you look through it 
upon the objects beyond you do not see it; are not con- 
scious that it is there. The more it is invisible the more 
perfect it is. Of language it should be so simple and con- 
cise, so transparently clear, that the mind of the hearer or 
reader goes right through to the thought beyond, the at- 
tention not being called to the language or style at all. 

Obscurity in writing is commonly an argument of dark- 
ness in the mind. The greatest learning is to be seen in 
the greatest plainness. Obscure writers, like turbed 
streams, seem deeper than they are. Unintelligible lan- 
guage is a lantern without a light. Some authors write 
nonsense in a clear style, and others sense in an obscure 
one; some can reason without being able to persuade, 
others can persuade without being able to reason. 

As 'tis a greater mystery in the art 
Of painting, to foreshorten any part, 
Than draw it out ; so 'tis in books the chief 
Of all perfections to be plain and brief. 

Samuel Butler. 

In general, people talk far better than they write. It 
would make many a man a reputation if he could give to 

36 



562 A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 

his pen the unconscious grace, freshness, and pictorial 
power which his tongue possesses. Nothing sooner takes 
the temper out of a composition than the fore-conscious- 
ness of "what people will think! " One should write to 
himself alone, and should be his own severest critic, and 
his own Maecenas. This may not make a good writer out 
of a poor one, but will make a good one better. 

No trade is learned and no science is mastered until 
one can ply them involuntarily. All solid acquisition 
begins in hard work and ends in play. Nothing is mas- 
tered until it can be given off spontaneously. Ripe fruit 
drops easily. Off-hand speaking is the very best and the 
very worst. This is one reason why letters are so much 
more readable than essays. Men say what they please in 
letters, in the freest expressions, and so they hit things 
off with a felicity which is denied to them in studied 
speech. But the day of letters is passing away. The 
printing press is now what the pen was a hundred years 
Ego. Men think out loud. They print their privacy. 
What few crumbs are left, reporters pick up. 

The difference between the style of one who always 
writes but never speaks, and one who always speaks but 
never writes, is very great. The first is more smooth 
and polished, the second more concise and forcible. The 
one lacks power, the other beauty. Speaking generally, 
the two qualities of grace and strength can only be ac- 
quired by practice both in writing and speaking. The 
two must mutually correct each other; and any system 
of education which neglects or ignores either of them is 
faulty. The great leading distinction between writing 
and speaking is, that more time is allowed for the one 
than the other; hence, different faculties are required for, 
and different objects obtained by each. He is properly 
the best speaker who can collect together the greatest 
number of apposite ideas at a moment's warning; he is 
properly the best writer who can give utterance to the 
greatest quantity of valuable knowledge in the whole 
course of his life. 

F.ew young people are aware of the advantages derived 
from writing. It gives a refinement and polish to the 



A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 563 

mind, an accuracy and form to thought, in which the 
manners and character of the individual can but partici- 
pate. The mind of every person is pregnant with ideas. 
These, uncultivated, are but a jumbled and confused 
mass, of little benefit to the possessor, and certainly none 
to others. But give them shape, culture and expression, 
and a soul gleams through them to influence all within 
its radiance. Ideas produce ideas, and their cultivation 
gives nobleness to mind. When we commit our thoughts 
to paper, even in letters to our most intimate friends, we 
always endeavor to express them in as clear, concise, and 
elegant a manner as possible. Much as we may use 
absurd and unrefined terms in our conversation, we dis- 
like to see them in writing. To write well, we must 
think well; and thinking well naturally engenders acting 
well. The more we write, the more natural, easy, and 
impressive will be our language. The more we think, 
the more truthfulness and wisdom will our thoughts con- 
tain. But these are not all of the advantages of writing. 
It will be a pleasure and a pastime which will fill up ad- 
mirably many a vacant hour. It diverts and relaxes the 
mind from the more engrossing cares and concerns of 
life ; enabling it to regain its natural tone and vigor with- 
out engendering a distaste for the usefulness of labor, or 
debasing the moral principles. It turns the mind in upon 
itself, strengthening and fortifying it against the vicissi- 
tudes of fortune. It enables us to read with a deeper 
interest the writings of others; and as we draw compar- 
isons between their ideas and our own, diverging from 
the original track, they assume a new embodiment from 
which we are enabled to draw correct and decisive con- 
clusions. We look around us with a feeling of new life 
and buoyancy of spirit, as if each part of inanimate crea- 
tion had suddenly been endowed with a language of its 
own. As if by the touch of magic, it gives a beauty, 
and a sublimity to the most common-place events. 

It has been well said, that he who is well employed in 
his study, though he may seem to do nothing, does more 
than all others. He lays down precepts for the govern- 
ing of our lives, and the moderating of our passions, and 



564 A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 

obliges human nature, not only in the present, but in all 
succeeding generations. 

Many a man's destiny has been made or marred for 
time and for eternity, by the influence which a single sen- 
timent- has made on his mind, by its forming his character 
for life, making it terribly true that moments sometimes 
fix the coloring of our whole subsequent existence. 
Hence those who write for the public should do so under 
a deep sense of responsibility, and endeavor to do it in 
that healthful and equable state of mind and body which 
favors a clear, un exaggerated and logical expression of 
ideas. If men wrote nothing for print until after forty, 
the world would be happier and better, for age and a 
more extensive and accurate observation cause many a 
change of sentiment in later life. 

No one should write when very hungry, or immediately 
after eating, nor under the influence of any unnatural 
stimulant, nor while in a passion ; else in the latter case, 
he will most certainly make a fool of himself. Those 
who write under a depression of spirits will always write 
nonsense or untrue things. Those who write a great 
deal late at night will lose their health or die prema- 
turely. The best time for writing with freshness, vigor 
and logical truthfulness is in the morning, when the brain 
has been recuperated and renovated by the natural stim- 
ulus of healthful sleep, before its force has been expended 
or divided on the common affairs of life. No man ought 
to write over four hours in twenty-four, and not over one 
hour at a sitting ; even oftener, it would be better to 
walk a few minutes, indoor or out, to rest the brain ; but 
always w r rite when the mind takes hold of the subject, 
when the spirit is on you, be it day or night. When the 
mind is inspired, beautiful thoughts glide into his vision, 
like stars into the field of the telescope. The way to 
speak and write what shall not go out of fashion, is to 
speak and write sincerely. 

Take time for thinking, never work in haste ; 
And value not yourself for writing fast. 

Dele should be the motto of your inkstand. We read 
that the most distinguished men in all parts of literature 



A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 565 

did this, even those (such as Moore, the song-writer) who, 
we would suppose, wrote with the utmost facility. Gib- 
bon, speaking of his great history, says: "Three times 
did I compose the first chapter, and twice the second and 
third, before I was tolerably satisfied with their effect." 
Pascal re-wrote one of his "Provincial Letters" eighteen 
times. Of Ariosto, Leigh Hunt records: "He was per- 
petually altering his verses. His MSS. are full of cor- 
rections. He wrote the exordium of the Orlando over 
and over again." 

Full success in life comes only by hard and steady 
work. This is true of business men, and of professional 
men, and of brilliant authors. Dickens wrote much and 
easily, but no author was ever more painstaking than he. 
Dickens took great pains in his expression, writing down 
a thought in many different forms oftentimes, before it 
would suit his fastidious taste. Those who have seen the 
original manuscripts of his works, many of which he had 
bound and kept at his residence at Gad's Hill, describe 
them as full of interlineations and alterations; while it is 
well known that the quaint surnames of his characters 
were the result of much painstaking. It is said that 
when he saw a strange or odd name on a shop-board, or 
in walking through a village or country town, he entered 
it in his pocket-book, and added it to his reserve list. 
Then when he wanted a striking surname for a new char- 
acter, he had but to take the first half of one real name 
and add it to the second half of another, to procure the 
exact effect upon the eye and ear of the reader he desired. 

There is scarcely a case on record where there existed 
a greater antagonism between an author and his pen than 
in the case of Sir William Hamilton. In reading his 
pure and limpid language, it is hard to realize that he 
was not a ready writer. But while he occupied the chair 
of logic and metaphysics in the University of Edinburg, 
and every day delivering from it those lectures on meta- 
physical science which have made him famous through- 
out the world, he could never take his pen at any time 
and write a certain required amount. Indeed, he always 
took up his pen with extreme reluctance. Owing to this 



566 A FEW HINTS TO WRITERS. 

aversion to composition, he was often compelled to sit up 
all night in order to prepare the lecture which was the 
wonder and admiration of every person who heard it the 
next day. This lecture he wrote roughly and rapidly, 
and it was copied and corrected by his wife in the next 
room. Sometimes it was not finished till nine o'clock in 
the morning, and the weary wife had fallen asleep, only 
to be wakeful and ready, however, when he appeared 
with fresh copy. The writer's labor makes the reader's 
ease. 

Alexander Hamilton once said to an intimate friend: 
"Men give me some credit for genius. All the genius I 
have lies just in this : When I have a subject in hand, I 
study it profoundly. Day and night it is before me. I 
explore it in all its bearings. My mind becomes per- 
vaded with it. Then the effort which I make the people 
are pleased to call the fruit of genius. It is the fruit of 
labor and thought." 

Mr. "Webster once replied to a gentleman who pressed 
him to speak on a subject of great importance: "The 
subject interests me deeply, but I have not time. There, 
sir," pointing to a huge pile of letters on the table, "is a 
pile of unanswered letters to which I must reply before 
the close of this session, (which was then three days off. ) 
I have no time to master the subject so as to do it jus- 
tice." "But, Mr. Webster, a few words from you would 
do much to awaken public attention to it." " If there is 
so much weight in my words as you represent, it is be- 
cause I do not allow myself to speak on any subject until 
my mind is imbued with it." 

The writer who uses weak arguments and strong 
epithets, makes quite as great a mistake as the landlady 
who furnished her guests with weak tea and strong butter. 
More people commit suicide with the pen than with the 
pistol, the dagger, and the rope. A pin has as much 
head as a good many authors, and a great deal more 
point. Good aims do not always make good books. 
Well-tempered spades turn up ill-smelling sods. He who 
writes what is wrong, wrongs what is right. What is 
written to order generally shows the order. Some great 



WRITING FOR NEWSPAPERS. ' 5&7 

master of polished composition has prescribed that a 
book should be kept in the hands of the writer for nine 
years. 

You may correct what in your closet lies; 
If published, it irrevocably liies. 

The popular man or writer is always the one who is 
but little in advance of the masses, never the man who 
is far in advance of them and out of their sight. Would 
a writer know how to behave himself with relation to 
posterity, let him consider in old books what he finds 
that he is glad to know, and what omission he most la- 
ments. 

It is said that not one book in twenty is a decided suc- 
cess, not one in a hundred a great success. That is a for- 
tunate book which sells five thousand copies, very fortu- 
nate which reaches twenty thousand. Nine out of ten 
new books published in this country fail to sell two thou- 
sand copies. The dead races of mankind scarcely out- 
number the existing generation more prodigiously than 
the books that have perished exceed those that remain 
to us. 



WRITING FOR NEWSPAPERS. 

This is a distinct and difficult art. Its principles must 
be somewhat studied by those who would succeed in it. 
The disregard of these principles is the cause of the prosi- 
ness which characterizes so much of our newspaper 
literature. The newspaper is not a thing to be studied 
— scarcely one to be read. It is one to be glanced over. 
The articles then must be so written, as to attract and 
hold attention. Processes of thought and reason are to 
be shut out; results only are to appear. Argument is to 
be suggested, rather than stated. Usually one point is 
enough for an article. Some single nail should be struck 
fair upon the head, and then left at once. Introductions 
are a nuisance. Inferences are always skipped. The 
sentences should be short. Every word should leap with 
life. Condensation should be extreme. Subordinate 



568 WRITING FOR NEWSPAPERS. 

thoughts should be thrown away. The object is, not to 
treat a subject in full, but to produce a certain effect. 
All that is not necessary to the effect, should be discarded. 
He who has the nerve to do this, with a soul that fires 
with a great thought, and the manliness to utter it freely, 
may wield a power with the pen which no sceptre can 
rival. The tendencies in professional life are to deterior- 
ation of style. The constant didactism of the pulpit 
often degenerates into diffuseness. The reiteration of 
points at the bar, and the precision of legal style, tend 
to produce dryness and repetition. In no way can the 
professional man more effectually make his words instinct 
with life and power than by weekly practice in the columns 
of a newspaper. 

As a general rule, short pieces are best liked. A gen- 
tleman in a bank once told us, when we asked him to 
subscribe for a certain Quarterly Review: — " Read a re- 
view! why, I never read anything longer than a telegraph 
despatch! But I will take it, and send it to my brother, 
who is a minister in the country." The public like short 
articles, when it is a condensation. This introduces a 
second idea. An article to be printed should absolutely 
have something in it. If professed argument, it should 
be conclusive ; if pathetic, it should moisten the eyes ; 
if an anecdote, it should have a sharp point; if phi- 
losophy, it should go to the primitive rock; if practical, 
it should go like an arrow to its work ; if spiritual, it 
should awe the soul that reads it. A good newspaper 
style is not as easy as it seems. Its Scylla lies on the 
side of attempting a popular manner, and succeeding in 
being more familiar than a man ought to be at his own ta- 
ble, or degenerating into slang, or becoming very childish. 
Its Charybdis yawns for those who, shunning Scylla, are 
determined to have real thought, pith and value in their 
writing, and so become too learned, or profound, or im- 
aginative, or philosophical, for any but scholars or culti- 
vated people. 

The rule regarding talk, "When you have nothing to 
say, say it," applies equally to writing. When you really 
have something to write about, do not peck and scratch 



WRITING FOR NEWSPAPERS. 569' 

around the subject like a hen; pounce upon it boldly 
like an eagle. Almost every article presented by un- 
practiced writers to magazines — no matter how admirable 
the subject — drifts to leeward for one or two pages be- 
fore the writer gets steerage- way on his thoughts and the 
reader finds out where he wants to sail to. This fault 
could easily be avoided by proper revision. Cat out all 
that does not bear on the subject discussed; every use- 
less adjective ; every ineffective repetition of the same 
idea. Then consider whether you have said what you 
wanted to say in the best language at your command. If 
not, write on till you feel satisfied. Then condense and 
prune. Do not seek for striking metaphor or sprightly 
epigram, to decorate your article. If such occur natur- 
ally, they may be put in, but w T ith caution. Consider 
whether you really gain anything by them; whether they 
really add force to your writing, or merely flatter your 
vanity at the time. Afterward, when all is done in the 
way of argument, you may here and there carefully add 
an apt quotation or pungent witticism, to attract atten- 
tion and make some important sentence snap, like the 
cracker on a coach-whip. Remember, too, all the time, 
that facility in composition, as in all other accomplish- 
ments, can only be obtained by practice and perseverance. 

" True grace, in writing, comes by art, not chance ; 
As they move easiest who have learned to dance." 

Do not assume that, because you have something im- 
portant to communicate, it is necessary to write a long 
article. A tremendous thought may be packed into a 
small compass — made as solid as a cannon ball, and, like 
the projectile, cut down all before it. Short articles are 
generally more effective, find more readers, and are more 
widely copied than long ones. Pack your thoughts close 
together, and though your article may be brief, it will 
have weight, and be more likely to make an impression. 
u Ye who write for this busy age," says a late writer, 
" speak quick, use short sentences, never stop the reader 
with long or ambiguous words, but let the stream of 
thought flow right on, and men will drink it like water." 



THE ART OF LETTER WRITING. 

One of the most desirable and delightful of accom- 
plishments is the ability to write an entertaining letter. 
It is also one of the rarest. Even those authors who are 
capable of works of imagination or instruction of a high 
order, are seldom found producing letters fresh or lively 
enough to interest the reader. Among the vast herd of 
letter-writers who make no pretensions to literature, you 
may find many whose familiar letters are more excellent, 
because more unstudied than those of scholars and litter- 
ateurs. 

As the subjects of nearly all letter- writing are and 
must be familiar and common-place, people are too apt 
to think that to make them interesting they must strive 
after some special graces or sublimities of style. They 
ask themselves — how shall I dignify and adorn this com- 
mon-place subject, so as to render it readable or present- 
able? Never was there a greater mistake. The chief 
charm of all letter-writing is simplicity. There is no 
style so readable or so delightful as that which is just 
suited to the subject. The short, crisp sentences of 
familiar conversation are just the ones which look best in 
letters. Never elaborate. Shun stilts as you would a 
hobgoblin. The style of the true letter-writer is like 
feminine beauty — 

" When unadorned, adorned the most." 

What is it that makes such writings as those of Gold- 
smith and Irving permanent favorites, while a thou- 
sand writers of the sensation school are swept into 
oblivion ? Is it not their simplicity and natural, unaffected 
grace of style? And how much more essential is this 
quality in epistolary composition — which is, or should be, 
only conversing on paper. If you want to cultivate an 
attractive style of letter-writing, avoid all big, Johnsonian 
words. Write as you would talk with an intelligent, 
lively and spirited companion — only a little more so. 

570 



THE ART OF LETTER WRITING. 571 

"Doctor," said Goldsmith to Dr. Johnson, one day, "if 
you were to write a fable about little fishes, you would 
make the little fishes tal<k like whales." That remark 
furnishes a criticism on the major portion of our episto- 
lary, domestic, and juvenile literature. It is too formal, 
stilted and cold. There is no life in it. Its style is of 
the book — bookish; the words are not real, vital and 
blood-warm, but sound ghostly, far-fetched and hollow. 

Women are, or ought to be, the sovereigns of the art 
epistolary. They have just that easy, scrappy, dear, de- 
lightful, illogical way of putting things, which makes the 
charm of desultory conversation. What a relief from the 
prosy bookishness of what are called "cultivated men!" 
" Cultivated" — that is, in the sense of spoiled — trimmed 
down and rounded off to a smooth monotony of ideas 
and expression — just like a Dutch flower-garden, all 
prim, angular, proper, and marvellously stupid. 

The extreme, fastidious care of what you are going to 
say ruins a great deal of good talk and good writing. 
The essence of wit is spontaneity. Your cautious, timid 
people, who converse in formulas and write by rule, 
never say anything brilliant. A certain abandon is essen- 
tial to vivacity and effectiveness of speech. If you walk 
as if you were in continual fear of treading on eggs, you 
will never get far. A truly cultivated person, with mind 
well stored, doesn't need a martingale to restrain what 
may be termed the friskiness of speech. Are not your 
merry, off-hand people usually the best company ? 

What charming letters have been written and printed, 
from the pens of certain famous women ! What delight- 
ful, piquant, spirited and fascinating letters are those 
familiar ones of Madame de Sevigne. With what inex- 
haustible point and vivacity do they run on and on, treat- 
ing of all things domestic, personal, political, literary, 
feminine, and human, which belong to the life and history 
of the times. The letters of Madame de Maintenon, too, 
less finished in style, are almost as interesting in sub- 
stance. Those of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, espe- 
cially those written in the East, are extremely good. 
The letters of Lady Rachel Russell, have a touching 



572 THE ART OF LETTER WRITING. 

tenderness and simplicity which renders them very inter- 
esting. And of literary ladies, those of Elizabeth Mon- 
tague and Elizabeth Carter are* the very best. 

Of the letters of great poets, many volumes of which 
have been published, those of Pope, Gray and Byron, are 
by far the best, and will all richly reward perusal. Those 
of Byron exhibit powers of prose composition not at all 
inferior to his mastery of poetic style, and are really 
more interesting and improving reading than the poems. 
Among English letter-writers of the court gossip school, 
possessing besides, a wide range of personal and literary 
interest, Horace Walpole must be placed at the head. 
His letters are so fresh, racy and original, so felicitous in 
epithets, so abounding in curious lore, and so free and 
piquant in their personalities, as to furnish an inexhausti- 
ble fund of entertainment to the reader. 

An ill-tempered letter, once sent, will embitter a life- 
time. We once heard of an old gentleman, with a wise, 
fine head, calm face, and most benevolent look, but evi- 
dently thin-skinned and irascible, who begged of a post- 
master to return him a letter which he had dropped into 
the box. To do so, as everybody knows, is illegal; but, 
won over by the old gentleman's importunity, the post- 
master complied upon full proof, in comparing the writing, 
etc., being given. Then, with a beaming face, the old 
gentleman tore the letter into fragments, and, scattering 
them to the wind, exclaimed: u Ah! I've preserved my 
friend." The fact is, he had written a letter, in a state 
of irritation, which was probably unjust and hurtful, but 
which he had wisely recalled. "Written words remain," 
is not only a proverb, but a very grave caution: and 
hence the advice never to write in anger, or, at any rate, 
to keep your letter till you are cool. A very good 
practice, when you are indignant at any one's conduct, 
is to write a letter couched in the strongest terms pos- 
sible, as abusive as you can make it, as satirical and as 
ill-natured as the matter will afford, and, having done all 
this, to direct, seal, and put it in your desk for a few 
hours, then read it for your own satisfaction, and — tear 
it up. 



DOING GOOD. 

Dr. Franklin informs us that all the good he ever did 
to his country or to mankind, he owed to a small book 
which he accidentally met with, entitled, "Essays to do 
Good," in several sermons written by Cotton Mather. 
This little book, he says, he studied with care and atten- 
tion, laid up the sentiments in his memory, and resolved 
from that time — which was in his early youth — that he 
would make doing good the great purpose and business 
of his life. 

The mind, and morals, and character of the young are 
formed to a great extent by what they read. 

There was a great master among the Jews, who bid his 
scholars consider and tell him what was the best way 
wherein a man should always keep. One came and said 
that there was nothing better than a good eye, which is 
in their language, a liberal and contented disposition. 
Another said a good companion is the best thing in the 
world. A third said a good neighbor was the best thing 
he could desire ; and the fourth preferred a man that 
could foresee things to come — that is, a wise person. But 
at last came in one Eleazar, and he said a good heart was 
better than them all. " True,' 1 said the master, " thou hast 
comprehended in two words all that the rest have said ; 
for he that hath a good heart will be both contented, and 
a good companion, and a good neighbor, and easily see 
what is fit to be done by him." Let every man then 
seriously labor to find in himself a sincerity and upright- 
ness of heart at all times, and that will save him abund- 
ance of other labor. 

We counsel our friends, then, to seize every oppor- 
tunity of contributing to the good of others. Sometimes 
a smile will do it. Oftener a kind word, a look of sym- 
pathy, or an acknowledgment of obligation. Sometimes 
a little help to a burdened shoulder, or a heavy wheel, 
will be in place. Sometimes a word or two of good 
counsel, a seasonable and gentle admonition, and at 

573 



574 DOING GOOD. 

others, a suggestion of advantage to be gained and a 
little interest to secure 'it, will be received with lasting 
gratitude. And thus every instance of kindness done, 
whether acknowledged or not, opens up a little wellspring 
of happiness in the doer's own breast, the flow of which 
may be made permanent by habit. 

How often do we sigh for opportunities for doing good, 
while we neglect the opening of Providence in little 
things which would lead to the accomplishment of most 
important usefulness! Dr. Johnson used to say, u He 
who waits to do a great deal of good at once, will never 
do any." Good is done by degrees. However small in 
proportion to benefits which follow individual attempts 
to do good, a great deal may be accomplished by perse- 
verance, even in the midst of discouragements and dis- 
appointments. Life is made up of little things. It is 
but once in an age that occasion is offered for doing a 
great deed. True greatness consists in being great in 
little things. How are railroads built? By one shovel- 
ful of clirt after another; one shovelful at a time. Thus 
drops make the ocean. Hence, we should be willing to 
do a little good at a time, and never " wait to do a great 
deal of good at once.' 1 If we would do much good in 
the world, we must be willing to do good in little things, 
little acts one after another, setting a good example all 
the time: we must do the first good thing we can, and 
then the next, and the next, and so keep on doing good. 
This is the way to accomplish anything. Thus only shall 
we do all the good in our power. 

In President Elliot's Inaugural Address at Harvard, he 
spoke of the founders of that ancient University as being 
animated by "the beautiful hope of doing good." The 
expression strikes us as singularly attractive and preg- 
nant with meaning. What hope can be more desirable 
in the heart than this of doing good, and of so doing 
good that the years of the future will rise up and call 
our actions blessed ! And yet in how comparatively few 
hearts does this hope find place. The majority of men 
live and die making no provision for the future, whereby 
their names shall be kept in remembrance when the 



DOING GOOD. 575 ' 

places that know them shall know them no more forever; 
and over whom might be written the old epitaph : — 
"Here lies a man who did no good, and if he'd lived, he 
never would; where he's gone, and how he fares, nobody 
knows and nobody cares." 

He who does good to another man, does good also to 
himself, not only in the consequence, but in the very act 
of doing it, for the conscience of well doing is an ample 
reward. Try to do good at all times ; and God will re- 
ward you for it hereafter. The measure of accounta- 
bility is decided as much by the good we leave undone, 
as by the evil which we do. 

It is not by great deeds, like those of the martyrs, that 
good is to be done; it is by the daily and quiet virtues 
of life — the christian temper, the meek forbearance, the 
spirit of forgiveness, in the husband, wife, father, mother, 
brother, sister, friend, or neighbor, that good is to be 
done. Be good — for to be good is to be happy. 

Run not after blessings; only walk in the command- 
ments of God, and blessings shall run after you, pursue 
and overtake you. Carlyle says : " Make yourself a 
good man, and then you may be sure that there is one 
rascal less in the world." 

Be always sure of doing good. This will make your 
life comfortable, your death happy, and your account 
glorious. Zealously strive to do good for the sake of 
good. The pleasure of doing good is the only one that 
never wears out. 

Says Hawthorne, "For my own part, if I had an in- 
supportable burden, if for any cause I were bent upon 
sacrificing every earthly hope as a peace offering toward 
heaven, I would make the wide world my cell, and good 
deeds to mankind my prayer." Many penitent men have 
done this and found peace in it. 

Those men who are of the noblest disposition think 
themselves the happiest when others share their happi- 
ness with them. Benevolence is a fundamental law of our 
moral being; and the man who labors for his fellow-men 
secures thereby the gratification of his most commanding 
principles of action ; but he who labors for himself alone, 



,576 DOING GOOD. 

stirs up against his own peace some of the most opera- 
tive elements of his worst nature. 

Seeking the welfare of man is goodness — of all virtues 
the greatest — because it is aiming to imitate God. There 
be many just men; there be many of various personal 
excellence; but it takes everything to make a good man. 
He must be wise; he must be just; he must be pure; 
and he must suffuse justice, and wisdom, and purity with 
such love that he shall be sympathetic, genial and tender. 
It is this element of love, added to all the substantial 
excellences which form the character that makes a man 
good in distinction from just or benevolent or wise. It 
is only great souls that know how much glory there is in 
being good. 

When Alexander the Great was asked on his death bed 
whom he wish to succeed him in his empire, he answered, 
"the most worthy." When the fathers of the American 
Republic were framing a Constitution for the preserva- 
tion of its liberties, they cherished the hope that the 
people would confide the administration of the new Gov- 
ernment to "the most worthy." 

Do good with what thou hast, or it will do thee no 
good. The power of doing good to worthy objects, is 
the only enviable circumstance in the lives of people of 
fortune. Napoleon once entered a cathedral and saw 
twelve silver statues. " What are these ? " said the Em- 
peror. " The twelve Apostles," was the reply. u Well," 
said he, " take them down, melt them, and coin them 
into money, and let them go about doing good, as their 
Master did." 

We often omit the good we might do in consequence 
of thinking about that which is out of our power to do. 
Many long for good to come to them, but never think 
the present the right time to seek it. 



